


As Above, So Below

by glasscherrry



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Billy Hargrove Has Powers, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Canon-Typical Violence, Experiment Billy Hargrove, From S2 canon, Gay Billy Hargrove, Human Experimentation, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, The Upside Down, Time Skips, set in 1994
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2020-10-06 22:00:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20514164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glasscherrry/pseuds/glasscherrry
Summary: In the Summer of 1985, Billy Hargrove was arrested for the violent murder of his father - an incident spawning urban legends and strange rumors.The year is 1994. The gang reunite in the search for Eleven, who has gone missing under mysterious circumstances. Once again, Steve Harrington finds himself face to face with Billy. Steve is hesitant to trust him. But, he soon discovers that Billy may be their key to finding answers - and finding Eleven before its too late.





	1. Chapter 1

July 1994

Steve struggles with the sleeves of his wallet in search for a 20, biting hard on the 100-Grand bar clenched between his teeth. The goth teenage cashier lets out another sigh and taps her painted, black nails on the counter.

With a loud shriek, a group of women enter through the automatic doors. A sweeping gale of wind bumrushes them and they retreat down the aisle, laughing as they try to re-arrange their Friday-night makeup and hair. The sky splits with another bright, blue flash of lightning and the T.V. above the cashier-desk crackles with static - the latest local news report droning in and out lazily.

_"..reported a dangerous and violent character who is not be engaged wi-"_

Steve pulls free the note with a triumphant brow waggle and the cashier shoot him a brief, deadpan look from beneath her pin straight, peroxide blonde hair.

Steve adjusts his ruck-sack and braces himself for the heavy rain. He hated driving in the rain in the city - let alone in Hawkins where the streetlights were few and far between and shadowy woodlands crowded around you.

He'd grown used to Indianapolis. There, driving at night was regular routine. Yet, the passing lights and residual hum and bustle of bars, restaurants and stores were a constant comfort. The comforting pulse of life.

Hawkins, on the other hand, was stunted. Quiet, like a sleeping giant - waiting for his return.

The storm fell quickly on the Friday. The heatwave that prefaced the storm had been long. Cooped up in the office till 7pm, he envied the kids on Summer break, throwing water-balloons around the lot outside.

He'd thought of Tommy. Running bare-foot on the burning asphalt outside his house, using his shirt as a basket to hold water-balloons. The prospect of returning home had flicked some kind of weird switch in his brain.

"...How long will you need?" His boss, Naomi, frowned from her desk when he'd told her: dull-eyed and stoic as they locked eyes. Ever since their mistake hook-up at the annual Christmas party two years ago, she'd always given him the same look.

"A week, at most."

When it came to Hawkins, she knew what most people did - what little the papers had reported. Mainly, about Barb and Bob. The series of strange and unfortunate incidents that followed that very first tragedy in the once sleepy town of Hawkins.

Those few years had hung over Steve like a shadow. No matter how many years passed, he couldn't shake the nightmares.

With partners and new friends, he'd kept his mouth shut about the truth. Even when he woke violently by his partner's side - sweating and chest heaving with panic. How could he tell them about the prowling, blistered creature he could've _sworn _he'd seen at the foot of their bed?

Truth be told, it made him envy Nancy and Johnathan. Ten years hadn't changed that. Even though, some of the more painful aches and pains had healed with time. That horror had brought them together...right under his nose.

_Okay,_ so maybe they weren't completely healed.

The entry sign to Hawkins was the same as always: though the years had worn away the paint and lustre. The woodlands huddled close around his car as he drove.

He rolls up the dirt-path of Byers house as his car crawls to a slow stop. There, two familiar figures haunt the doorway.

The flickering porch light catching the long, fiery waves of Max's hair as she turns. But, it's Lucas that makes his way over first. Steve feels the undeniable span of emotion as he takes in the sight of him, tall and broad-shouldered.

"Hey," Lucas smiles, reaching out his hand.

Steve reaches to pull him in for a hug. Lucas tenses just a little in his arms before he welcomes it, scoffing by his ear.

"I thought you'd_ stopped_ growing." Steve laughs, patting his back.

"It_ has _been a while." As they pull away, Lucas scratches at the back of his neck. "Wish it was under better circumstances." He adds, smiling sadly.

The giddy excitement dwindles away and Steve gives his shoulder a small squeeze.

"...None of this is a coincidence, right?" Max makes her welcome short, without a hug - or much of a "hello". "It's gotta be related, surely,"

The front of her arms cross over her chest as she lifts her head, like she's waiting for Steve to reply.

"...Max," Lucas sighs. "This is not the time,"

Max looks like she hasn't slept in a while, judging by the shadows beneath her eyes and overall pale complexion. Not that he could blame her. Dreams of shadows filling the sky and prowling creatures beneath the earth had haunted him, too.

Steve shifts his weight on his feet. "Sorry, Max. I don't follow."

She turns back to Steve. "It's Billy."

For a moment, Steve just stares at her. The name sinks in slow.

In 1985, William Hargrove was arrested for the murder of his father. In a small, 'pleasant' town such as theirs, the general consensus had been (as always in those few years):

_"How could this have happened? Here? In our town?"_

For him, that small-town illusion was shattered after Barb. And, was completely destroyed when he'd seen those creatures crawling out from the earth.

"Went to your school and everything,." Steve's mother explained over the dry, chicken-dinner they had brought home from the store_. _

That night, their flight had been late. Yet, they'd promised a 'family' dinner. So, there they were, at ten thirty, eating dry chicken and veg from plastic cartons. A real treat.

"I hope you didn't run into him."

Steve almost choked on his glass of water. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose where a faint, ridge of a scar still remained.

Billy _was_ capable of a great deal of damage - Steve knew that more than most. He flinched reflexively at the memory, a flickering flame that erupted into wildfire.

"I sincerely doubt it. He wouldn't associate with that kind of person," His father said.

Steve stopped mid-chew to rub his tongue over his front teeth. He sounded _so_ sure. Like he actually knew everything there was to know about him - or even cared to. He hadn't even met Nancy. Couldn't even care enough to muster some effort to remember her name.

"Neil Hargrove. A Nam veteran. An esteemed record...Barely recognizable now, though."

Steve's Mom tutted. "Not at the table,"

"He's old enough. A man grown." He jerked his head affirmatively at him, like he was a kid who would preen at the idea of being referred to as a man. Steve forced a smile and poked at his green-beans.

His age didn't matter. That Summer...what he had seen. The creatures which lurked beneath the Earth. He could live a hundred years and still not be prepared for that. 

Regardless, everyone at school had been talking about the murder at a frequency which would soon make Billy Hargrove the source of some creepy, urban legend.

_Say his name three times in a mirror and he'll appear and smash a plate over your head. _

In passing, he'd heard the growing number of sick details. Teeth scattered across the floor, blood and brain matter fused into the carpet.

Looking back, what had remained in his mind was the giddy, excitable manner which his peers had spoken about it all. It wasn't real. Not to them. It was just a story. Just make-believe.

A lot of people had suspected that Billy Hargrove would be dead or in jail by before the age of 25. Sometimes, Steve wondered if Billy had even thought so himself. At constant war with the world. Waiting for someone, anyone, to give him a reason to lose it. To push him back so he could finally let loose.

"Kid was in shock." Hopper said, when Steve had asked his arrest. He'd shrugged, plucking a piece of the cigarette rolling filter from the tip of his tongue. "Barely even knew where he was._" _

The aftershocks of Billy Hargrove did not end there. A year later, Max's mother had suffered a stroke set upon her by stress. Ever since, Max had put everything on hold to take care of her.

Now, it seemed like she clung to a search for some truth - some closure that she would never find.

It didn't matter who told her differently, she was convinced that there had been something amiss about that day.

Steve couldn't understand it: the guy's father had been beaten into _unrecognizable _mush_. _

What would justify doing that?

"The other night, I saw him." Max continues, imploring him with wide eyes. "He was at our house."

Lucas shoots Steve a impatient look, eyes closing as he shakes his head.

"How...can you be sure?" Steve asks lightly.

Max's expression drops, eyes flushing a little red. She bites the side of her cheek, mouth pursing. "...I _know_ what I saw." She says, almost a whisper.

"I'm not saying you didn't see...someone." Steve says carefully, briefly flicking his eyes over to Lucas. "But, what makes you think that has anything to do with El?"

Max presses her lips together, takes a breath. "Before she disappeared, she told me she was having strange dreams. In one of them, she said she saw Billy. Then, out of nowhere, El disappears and I see him at our house and-"

"Max." Lucas snaps. "We're here for _El. _Remember?"

"I know that." Max bites back. "You know I care about her too." The icy glare she shoots him is eerily familiar. Yet, she's soft, where _he_ was all hard, steely edges. Worn and eroded into sea-glass.

Steve almost feels guilty for looking on, like he shouldn't be there for this.

"Steve," Another voice sounds from the doorway of the house.

Mike.

There's dark shadows on the skin of his under-eyes like bruises and his hair is an unkempt, mess of curls.

"We've gotta find her, Steve." He blabbers, words stumbling. "We have to keep looking."

Steve marches up the lawn and brings the younger man to his chest, holds him there. He feels him fall heavy into him with fatigue.

"I know," He tells him. "We'll find her."

They share some last minute take-out as Joyce paces around them all, barely taking a moment to sit down herself - as per usual.

"The flight is delayed." She returns to the living room and stops by Mike, squeezes his shoulder re-assuredly. "He'll be here tomorrow,"

Mike stirs to life with a sudden alertness. "He really doesn't have-"

"Honey," She kneels by his side, voice warm. "He'll be here."

"Do you think...it's back?" Lucas is the first person to mention it: breathing life into the spectre that haunted all of their thoughts.

It's 1am when the party finally splits.

They shuffle to their makeshift beds for the night. Lucas and Max share the living room with Mike, curling up one either sofa opposite one another. Mike perches up in the armchair by the phone, and by the door.

After helping Joyce wash up, Steve decides against taking Johnathan's old room.

It's a little too far: and awkward. Although, Joyce insists, Steve decides on the nearby Hawkins Motel.

He keeps his heavy eyes fixed forward on the road as he drives. Fearful of the dark playing tricks on him. It's far too easy to mistake the shadows, to see something move in the trees. He rubs at his sore, dry lids, tries to blink away the dancing shadows.

That's when something sharp and biting presses against his jugular.

"Don't make any sudden movements," A low voice says from the back-seat.

An ice cold sweat flushes over Steve's body. His thoughts race a mile a minute as his hands go tense on the wheel.

"Just pull over on the side of the road." The voice murmurs.

There's a wrench in the side pocket of the driver-seat door, Steve remembers. He peers down at it when the sharp, when the edge presses harder against his skin.

"What did I just fucking say?" The voice barks. "Don't do anything stupid, Harrington,"

The word and tone lingers in his mind. He_ knows_ it. He would know that voice anywhere.

Slowly, his eyes lift to the rear-view mirror. There, he meets the strangers eyes briefly. Their face and mouth hidden by the shadow of their hood. Yet, two sharp, blue eyes meet his, pupils constricted with panic.

There's no mistaking them.

Before Steve's lips can fully form the name, he quickly speaks.

"I can help you find her." He says. "The girl who closed the gate."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night of the murder with teenage Billy.
> 
> TW: Hard drug use, mentions of child abuse/actual child abuse, kind of an asshole Billy.

** 1985 **

Kristie clears the line from the glass coffee table with a practiced ease. She dabs at the side of her flushed nose with her manicured hand and turns to him, expectant. 

She laughs. “Don’t be scared.”

Billy shoots her a hard glare. He isn't scared. The blow she can afford is part of the reason why he's fucking her. The rush is a nice change from how he’s been feeling lately - with all the shit that Neil has been putting him through. If he has his way, he'll be enlisting by the end of the year.

_"It's the only thing that'll straighten you out."_

Billy snatches the rolled-up note from her fingers and doesn’t stop to think. It shoots up his nose, sharp and potent. Burns.

When he leans back on the couch, Kristie clutches at his face, her long nails catching the skin of his cheek.

She giggles giddy as he comes up. A_ Van Halen_ guitar solo splits the air from Kristie's stereo when it hits him. He gives a jittery shake. Clenches his jaw when the unpleasant after-taste drips down the back of his throat.

"Feeling good, baby?" Kristie sighs against his ear, hand rubbing higher up his inner thigh. He's not hard - he's not gonna get there any time soon, either. But, she's trying her best to get him there. He lets her gnaw on his ear and kiss his neck as his eyes flick and dart through the crowd of flickering bodies. 

Billy’s heart races harder in his chest when he locks on to a familiar face: finding it in a crowd almost instantly.

_Steve._

It’s the first time Billy has seen him out at an actual party - since the first night they met.

Steve's head is low as he walks across the room. A smile plays on his lips when he sneaks up on some blonde chick by the mantelpiece. She jumps when he surprises him, shoves him playfully on the shoulder. Steve laughs, as he sweeps back his soft brown hair that's fallen over his face.

"..It’s Steve." Billy blurts out.

Kristie turns quick over her shoulder. "_Oh, shit_. I forgot." She brings her hand to his chest. "Please, don't start anything."

He isn't planning on kicking his ass again - if that what she means. It's been almost a year but that night still plays on his mind. He feels like shit every time he thinks about that night.

But, the town is too small: he can't escape the reminder. Word spread fast about their fight. Everyone is convinced they're enemies that would brawl at the first sight of one another.

Truth is, they've barely spoken since. Steve has just completely avoided him.

He shoots her a glare. "...The Hell are you talking about?"

Her blue powdered eyes go wide, bottom lip jutting out. She fiddles with his necklace. "Well, I know you two don't get along."

"You don't know shit." He snaps, knocking her off his shoulder.

She slumps back at his side, pouting. One of her more annoying habits is her assumptions. It’s not like they’re a couple. By now, she should know why he’s still hanging around. She’s a rich and easy. Billy figures it’s a fair deal - what they’ve got going on right now.

She’s using him, too. To get back at her parents. To flaunt him around her jock ex-boyfriend.

She practically leapt on his lap when he walked in. He played along, just like she wanted. It seemed to work. The guy had shot them a winded, look of shock before he left in a hurry.

Billy had never liked the guy anyways.

"He’s _such_ a dork now." Kristie scoffs. Billy chews on his cheek as he watches Steve. He's laughing at something the blonde girl is saying: he wonders what she said. Imagines what he's laughing about. Smiling like that, his eyes turning into little crescents.

Billy stands up from the couch suddenly.

“Billy-,” Kristie’s voice trails after him but he ignores her. He pushes his way through the crowd. As he passes by the ice-bucket full of booze. He grabs two cans of beer.

“Harrington.” He announces when he reaches him.

Steve’s big brown eyes get even wider when he turns.

“Come to grace us all with your presence?”

Steve looks around at the strangers who are all looking on. But, Billy doesn’t give a shit about them. It’s none of their damn business. He wants him to look at him, only. To look him in the eyes - for once.

“Can we not do this right now, man?” Steve says, eyes darting as more people gather. “Not tonight.”

Billy flicks his eyes over to the girl. “Wouldn’t wanna ruin you and your girl’s night.”

“I’m not his girlfriend.” The girl protests, her hand goes for his shoulder. Tries to pull him away.

“_Re-lax_,” Billy says, sidestepping to get in their way. He hands Steve the beer. “It’s a party. Lighten up and celebrate.” Steve looks at it like he’s somehow contaminated it in some way, even though it’s sealed shut.

“It’s a peace offering, Harrington." He says. "Not poison.”

Still wary, Steve takes it from him, fingers brushing light against his. He cracks his beer open and lifts it to his full mouth.

“Down it, college boy.” Billy throws it back, bares his throat first. Steve follows his lead. Billy peers at him through his lashes, watches Steve’s pale throat work, the throb of it as he swallows.

They finish seconds apart and a few people around them cheer: seemingly relieved at their civility.

"Looks like you're still keg-king...or whatever." Steve wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, wincing. "Congrats." He adds.

Billy grins sharp. "Doubt you'll meet anyone as hard to beat. Not where you're going." He almost misses it when Steve mumbles low.

“Yeah. I'm _not_ going to college, so.”

Billy frowns. “Why not?” He jeers. “I'm sure Daddy can afford it.”

Steve lets out a small, grim laugh. He lifts his head, smiles tightly. “Fuck you, Hargrove.”

_There it is._ Billy smiles at the fire in his expression. They’ve amassed a small crowd, now. But, they keep their distance as they brace for something.

A drink-off. Or, for a fight, maybe. Billy isn't about to start one. He's not in the mood to, really. Unless, Steve swings first, that is.

“Steve, come on.” Blondie gets between them. “Let's get out of here.” She says, pushing him away. Steve tears his eyes away and lets the girl lead him out of the living room.

Billy can’t shake a sinking feeling as he watches him go. He crushes the empty beer can. Bowls it across the carpet. Unsatisfied and sinking. Irritated.

Soon enough, Kristie returns to his side.

"Thanks for that." She says. "A fight would've been a real downer."

Billy wants to laugh: he didn't do anything for her.

"Can’t believe I actually went out with him once.”

At her comment, Billy turns his head, suddenly curious.

“Well..." She sighs. "Guess that was before he got with that frigid Wheeler bitch,"

He presses his tongue hard against the sharp point of his canine, tries to sound disinterested when he asks. "You dated him?"

She shrugs. "Only for a month...or so." A slow, private smirk lifts her lips. “It wasn’t exactly..._serious_.”

The thought of them fucking crawls beneath his skin. He can't help but picture it. Steve's hands in her hair as she goes down on him in his Beemer. Every agonizing detail of his face, lips parted and eyes fluttering.

He wonders if he brought her back to his house. Gave her some grand tour. Put on rich-boy airs, acted like a real gentleman before he took her upstairs and fucked her hard in his room.

Billy’s breath catches, his dick twitching in his jeans. He reaches for Kristie and pulls her closer.

"You gonna show me your room, princess?"

She looks down and bites her lip, smiles. "Kay."

Billy fucks her upstairs whilst the party rages. He hikes up her skirt as he turns her onto her hands and knees on an ugly pink and yellow bed-spread.

He wonders if Steve has ever been in here. If he's taken her like this, staring up at the flashy, autographed Bowie poster on the wall. She's loud - making a show for everyone downstairs.

It starts to grate on his nerves - makes him lose his focus. So, he leans over her, fingers slipping past her lips to keep her mouth busy.

Even though he speeds all the way home, he's forty-seven minutes late when he parks the Camaro out the back of the house. _12:47_.

Neil's home.

From the looks of things, Max and Susan still aren't back yet from Max's grandparents.

He was sure they'd be home by now. Sure, the drive was long. But, they've probably stopped for dinner somewhere. That's not good news for him. Neil doesn't hold back when they're not around.

Billy listens to the last Sabbath track in his car as he lights another cigarette. It doesn't matter if he waits now. Either way, he's still going to get beat. He finishes the last of his cigarette on the porch. Last rites.

Above him, the porch light flickers. He glares up at it, grumbling irritably. Then, grinds the dying embers of his cigarette under his boot.

As he enters, he hears the overzealous, irate chatter of some conservative radio station: what his dad usually listened to when the T.V. was out.

The sound of it crackles unpleasantly: the batteries are almost dead.

It must’ve been on all day.

Neil is sitting upright in his armchair, arms flat on the rests. He's facing away from the doorway - sitting all alone in the dark.

The fuse must've blown again, Billy thinks. He checks the lamp yet it lights up the room gold.

Neil tenses up in his seat when the room fills with light. He hears him heave strangely: almost like a wheeze.

Had he been sleeping? _Shit._ Had he woken him up? Billy wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans, heart racing.

"I'm home."

When he speaks, Neil slowly raises to stand.

"I know, I missed curfew." He explains, already bracing himself.

Neil stumbles on his feet as he walks over, face dark with shadows.

"It won’t happen again," He blurts quick.

He prepares himself as Neil stumbles over. Clenches his jaw tight - punches always hurt less when he doesn't catch it slack. Billy expects it’ll be the belt. Or, a head-jerking whack across the face.

Instead, Neil's hands go straight for his throat.

They lock tight around it like a vice. Neil forces him back. He pushes him until he's against the table, bending him backward beneath his force. The grip around his throat is suddenly severe.

Billy feels his face going red hot under the pressure, swelling up. He struggles at the sleeves of Neil's plaid shirt, tries to pry him off, push him back. In the struggle, he knocks over Max's money bank. It smashes to pieces on the floor.

Neil’s eyes aren’t right. He looks sick. Pallid and grey. The pupils of his eyes are hollow, the whites gone.

Billy tries to cry out. To plea. But, Neil's grip gets tighter and tighter. It burns. He can’t get a word out. Billy beats uselessly at his hands, tapping out - but he doesn't relent.

Darkness crowds his vision. His eyes swell in their sockets, pulsing with his racing heart.

He's going to kill him this time. He's thought so before. But, now he knows for sure. _This is it._

Billy makes one final limp reach across the table. The tips of his fingers are numb and heavy. Yet, he grasps hold of something. Curls his fingers around the hard, heavy edge of it.

He grabs it and swings as hard as he can.

The object meets with the side of his head. The pressure releases.

Billy tumbles to the floor, choking. With a sharp, _swip_ the lamp light blows.

In darkness, he falls.

Billy heaves violently, gasping to take in air. The skin of his neck is tender and aching. It hurts to turn or lift his head.

The power is out.

The color has faded from the room, leaving only the dark of night. Shakily, Billy stands. He coughs and splutters.

He has to get out of here. He has to go. Before Neil gets up. He stumbles towards the door and pulls it open. A red light erupts in the sky, turns the whole driveway red.

It's not a firework. Or, a flare.

Above him, the skies are thick with storm-clouds where there’s another flash. A fork of _red_ lightning.

Billy rubs at his eyes. From behind the row of houses, a shadow rises. It's a dark cloud: darker than the rest. It spreads across the skies. It's limbs spanning out like long bony, fingers.

It _sees_ him.

He hears a dry, croaking wheeze behind him. Just before he's yanked backwards.

He's thrown back onto the floor. A swarm of black smoke floods his vision, as a large weight pins him down.

There's smoke is in his eyes, his mouth, his nose. Everywhere. He can't breathe. It shoots down his throat.

It's ice cold. It's so cold that it burns. Like the corrosive sharp, sting of bleach or acid.

Billy swings his fist and catches something with the edge of his knuckle. There’s a hollow, grunt and hissing sound and the cloud disperses, the weight lifting.

Billy gets onto his hands and knees and crawls towards the bloody ash-tray on the floor. It's tacky and wet as he grips it. When he turns, the shadow gathers itself. It lurches forward, snapping forward like a lunging snake. Billy swings. It collides with the side of its head and it screeches. Yet, it comes at him again.

Billy swings again, and again. Until, it finally cowers. It starts to retreat, slumping and groaning.

Billy chases after it and pins it down beneath him.

It's not going to hurt him again. He's not going to give it the chance. He smashes the glass ash-tray into it repeatedly, his arm jolting and elbow jarring as each strike makes contact.

The shadow ripples and billows. Forming and splitting and forming again, like a swarming flock of birds.

The tray breaks in two when he slams it down hard. It falls easily out of the sopping wet grip of his fingers.

It's then that he stops.

The world around him shifts.

He hears the sound of his own gasps of breath. Light flickers around him like the frenetic blink of a projector.

Then, the room illuminates with gold and warmth. With light.

He hears the drone of the radio again. Popping and fizzling with static.

The shadow is gone.

In its place, is his father. Face bludgeoned and split open into a bloody pulp.

Billy feels like he’s in a nightmare. The voices and people around him people are drifting. He can't focus on anything they're saying.

The officers spit words at him that he can't make sense of. They handle him roughly as they twist him arms and force him down against the cool bonnet of the police car.

Through it all, he feels out of it. He can't register anything.

Until, there’s a light tap on the car-window of the passenger seat.

“Billy.” A voice says. It's Max, her eyes wide. Her hair lit red and then blue by the flare of lights.

“Billy, what happened?” She presses her fingers up against the glass. “Talk to me."

It can't be real. None of it. He's going to wake up at some point. He _has_ to wake up from all this.

Only, it _is_ real.

He can't pretend when he looks down at his red hands, his shirt and stained jeans. The black body-bag through the car window.

There's no hiding from that.

“It wasn't him, Max." Billy croaks, his throat aching. He sounds so much older. "It...was the shadow,”

It makes no sense, he knows that. Yet, it's the truth. How else could he explain what he had seen?

Max furrows her brows. She narrows her eyes at him through the glass. Then, something flickers over her face as she takes in the words. Like, a part of her is listening. _Believes_ him.

_A part of her believes him_, Billy realizes.

He wets his dry lips, opens his mouth to say more when a large body blocks their view. The officer pushes her away, struggles with her as she tries to get past him.

"Billy!" She shouts. The car tilts and dips as the two officers enter on either side.

As they pull away from the house, Max stumbles up the drive after them. She watches them leave with a fraught expression as Susan pulls her closer.

Billy spares his last glance for the clearing in the clouds, searching for a sign of the shadow in the skies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to get this one up sooner but getting ready to go back to school has been hectic. 
> 
> I've mostly finished the next chapter so it should be up in a few days.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve's mind is whirring as he paces in the gaudy red and gold reception of the Motel, chewing on the skin of his bottom lip. He catches the eye of the night-worker when he peers up at him from his Forbes.

"Something wrong, Sir?"

_I have a murderer in my room, _Steve thinks.

"Everything's good." Steve says, lying through his teeth. He braces one elbow on the desk and leans forward on it. “Room is uh…great."

The man gives him a brief once over, smiles tight. “Good to know,” He says, before he forces another smile. “Have a good night, Sir.”

Steve slinks off the counter and avoids his eyes. He powers down the hall.

He braces himself at the door of the motel-room. Opening it to the muted, amber and b**r**own colors of the carpet and curtains, the misty glow of the bed-side lamp. The bathroom door is wide open, steam billowing into the room from the hot shower.

"Uh," Steve pushes the door open, careful not to catch him unaware. Or, nude. "You still here?"

"Where else would I go?" A low reply follows.

There’s a trail of clothes on the floor, loose worn jeans and a large navy sports hoodie. Steve picks up the hoodie, when he spots a name on the label on the inside: Dan Silverman.

He can’t help but wonder where he is now.

There’s a rusty creak sound as the shower dial turns. The hiss of the water brought to an abrupt stop. Steve drops the hoodie and sits upright, tries to look casual.

"So. All this time, you weren't at Indiana State?" He asks

"No," Billy replies, voice doubled by an echo. "It was…a _research _facility,"

Steve lifts his head, going suddenly cold. “Like...the one in Hawkins?"

“The source of all shit-holes, I'm sure," Billy sighs. "Figures you'd know all about it, since your girlfriend chased them out of town."

That hadn't changed. Now, she and Johnathan worked as investigative reporters, chasing after equally dangerous stories. He'd always known she would go places. Once, he'd thought he'd be going with her.

"That took some balls," Billy adds, his voice drawing closer. He walks out of the bathroom, nude and still dripping from the shower, drying his thighs with the bathroom towel.

"Uh-" Steve's cheeks flush hot.

He casts his eyes up high to the ceiling. From the corner of his eye, he can see his bare figure, walking over to pile of heaped clothes.

Steve focuses on the ugly painting on the opposite wall - it looks like an explosion at a condiment factory. He hears the rustle of clothing across bare skin, and the metallic clink of the belt and jeans he'd lent him from his rucksack.

Finally, he figures it’s safe to look.

Billy is thinner than he remembers. The long curls he’d sported proudly as a teenager are gone, his hair is now been buzzed short. A little fairer, too. He’s still broad shouldered, his stomach and arms toned and muscular.

The guy had always known he looked good - always made sure to show it off as much as possible, as much as Steve tried _not _to notice.

Steve stops himself. _This is Billy Hargrove_. _The same guy who knocked you unconscious, remember?_

"A few suits came to visit me whilst I was locked up," Billy tells him, tightening to belt around his hips. "They said I qualified for a unique rehabilitation program,"

Steve goes cold. _Rehabilitation?_

"And, you...went with them?" Steve frowns. "Are you nuts?"

Billy's head turns sharply. "I wanted out of a fucking cell." He bites. He almost looks a little sorry for it, when he lowers his head, lashes casting low. “They asked questions about what I’d seen that night. They..._listened _to me_. _For a while."

“Wait,” Steve furrows his brows. “The night you…”

_The night you snapped? The night you painted the floor with your father’s brains? _He stops short, mouth falling open as he struggles to finish his sentence in a way that won't piss him off.

“I couldn’t explain what I’d seen to the cops,” Billy begins. “That I’d crossed over to some weird, Hell where I fought a shadow,”

“The Upside Down?”

Billy's brows crease together. A small smirk quirks at the corner of his lip. “S’that some cute name you came up with?”

“That’s what the kids called it,” Steve clarifies.

“_The kids_,” He scoffs.

“We lost Will there,” Steve snaps. “He was missing there for a whole week,”

“And, how_ was_ he?” Billy asks pointedly - like he already knows. “After something like that?”

“He was…” Steve chews on his lip. Of course, Will struggled. It was a battle to free him of that thing. _It_ had found its way to cling to him - a _year_ after he’d escaped that place.

Will still struggled when he visited Hawkins now. The others had always kept an eye on him, of course - much to his occasional annoyance.

He never stayed longer than he had to.

Billy bends down to root through the mini-fridge, illuminated white by the garish glow. Glass bottles clink against one another as he pulls out a small liquor bottle. He unscrews the cap and throws some back. Winces, before he lifts it in offering to Steve.

Steve glowers at him. “I’m not really feeling like getting my buzz-on, right now,”

“Suit yourself,” Billy stands and kicks it closed.

"So, this thing..." Steve returns to the subject, rubs at his temples. "It has something to do with El's disappearance,"

Billy kicks out the chair from the small dining table and rests his head back against the partition wall.

“It needs someone strong enough for it occupy. And, not just a _piece_ of it." He slumps back on the chair. "The girl is the only one who'll fit the bill.”

_...Occupy?_ Steve feels an unshakable griminess come over him. A shudder crawling down his spine.

“With her strength, it can cross over," Billy explains simply, like he were merely commenting on the rain.

_Cross over? _If what he's saying was true, that would meant that it isn't just Hawkins, anymore.

It wasn't something they could stow away in some cursed, town. Or, just pass off as a bad-memory. This was much bigger, now. All these years, he'd been right to fear it. It had never left. What was a decade to something like that?

“How do you know all this?”

Billy's eyes lower at that, thumb running along the glass neck of the bottle. "It showed me," He says, nose flaring with disgust. “We _saw_ each other,”

Billy's gaze drifts off past Steve's head to the drawn curtains. "It saw everything in me. Every thought, memory and secret I had…None of them were mine to keep anymore." Billy's eyes fell heavy, fixed in a trance that held him captive.

Steve's feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up on end. That's when Billy points at him with the bottle before he lifts it to his mouth, adding brusquely: "It even knows you, you know,"

Steve lets out a bubble of nervous laughter. "Oh. _Great_. That's just...perfect."

He_ really _didn't need to know that little interesting piece of trivia. Steve starts to pace again, pulling hard on his tie hard to loosen it.

“And, why does it even want to cross over here anyway?” He asks. “Is it really so bad in wherever the fuck-ville?”

"It’s not house-hunting,” Billy's eyes follow him as he paces back and forth. “It’s a shit-hole parasitic force, hell-bent on harvesting and consuming life. It doesn’t need a reason. We’re annoying little gnats to this thing.”

Steve marches over. He grabs the Scotch off the table and throws some back. He hates the stuff, but his nerves are shot. He winces when it burns the back of his throat.

"And, if we're too late?” He asks.

It's then that Billy leans forward. He holds him steady in his gaze, like he's trying to reign him in. "Trust me, Harrington. If it had her, we'd sure as Hell _know_ about it."

Steve lets out a sigh of breath. On the other side of the table, he slumps down on the opposite chair, pushes the glass base of the bottle across the surface back to Billy.

"Do you have anything on you that belongs to her?" Billy asks, low and careful. "Anything that she's touched?"

Steve's face falls. Why would he? Then, he remembers.

A few months ago - the post-card he'd been sent by Mike. A Polaroid of them in Prague during their trip across Europe.

They'd been so happy - it was El's first trip outside of the country.

"I have a picture," Steve says, as he retrieves it from his back-pack. He hands it over.

Billy takes a brief look before he sets it down like a playing card. Unrolls the map of Indiana state that he grabbed from the reception on their way in.

"Okay, great-" Steve stands and makes his way over to his side of the table. He looks over his shoulder. "So, where-?" He stops mid-step when Billy’s hand shoots up.

Suddenly, he's grasped hard by the collar. Billy pulls him down to his level.

"S_wear_, Harrington." He says. "I'll help you find where she is. But, after that, I'm gone.” The heat of his breath tickles his top lip. “You _never _saw me. Got it?”

Steve frowns at the request. "Alright, I heard you,"

Billy's face softens. Briefly, his eyes drag over Steve's face, in a way that gives him pause.

"I'll also need some cash." 

Steve pulls his hand away and puts distance between them. “What for?”

"I need to get the fuck out of Dodge." Billy's eyes lower again. He runs his palm flat down his tie, flattening it against his chest and stomach. Steve follows the movement, tries to ignore the shiver it sends over his skin.

"I'm sure a rich boy like you has plenty to spare," He says, peering up at him from his lashes.

Times had changed, since then. But, for El, he would spare what he could.

Steve adjusts the end of his tie, flushing hot. “Fine.”

Billy holds his palm over the center of the map. For a few moments, there's nothing. Billy doesn't move an inch.

Then, Steve hears it.

A slight hum in the air. It feels...impending. Uniquely unpleasant. Like the grating nails on a chalk-board, or the scrape of a rusty fork across a plate. He feels it in his teeth, like a toothache in his skull. A resounding, gnawing ache.

The Scotch bottle on the table smashes with a pop.

"Shit-!" Steve jumps, blocking his face from the shattered glass.

Billy's head falls forward, his hands instantly lifting to shield his face. Behind them, he lets out a long, labored groan.

"Hey," Steve moves towards him, to get a look at Billy's face.

Billy's hands come away easy when he pulls them. Both eyes bright red and bloodshot. Splinters of glass cling to Billy's palm and fingers, a few of them piercing the callouses on his palm.

"Shit-" Steve starts to them pluck out, wipes down the table with a hand-towel.

Billy watches numbly, zoning in and out of focus. Completely out of it.

"I take it, that wasn't supposed to happen?" He asks when Billy says nothing. Billy's eyes are still closed as he wavers in place, like he's trying to stay upright.

Steve feels his eyes drop to his limp wrist. There, he notices the series of messy, slashes - running through the skin on his inner wrist. Steve feels his stomach drop low.

The cuts are straight, like a five on a tally. Scored through what looks like a small tattoo. He's careful not to graze it: it looks sore.

"We can try again in a few hours," Steve tells him softly. "Or, first thing, in the morning."

Billy's eyes are still hazy and dark. "You're in a hurry," He mumbles, almost like a scolded child.

Steve gives him a once over. It’s a little daunting to see him like this, drained and colorless. It's clear he hasn't slept in a while - or eaten.

He needs rest. He can't look for El - not like this. If they're going to have any luck in tracking her down - a few hours rest is better than nothing.

"We are," Steve peels the map out from under his other palm. "But, not if it's gonna kill you, man."

A lazy, slow kind of smirk lifts Billy's mouth. He scoffs weakly. "I'm real touched, Harrington," 

Steve assists him onto the bed. It isn't as hard as he thought it would be to support his weight - he's lighter than he expected. He drops his body onto the motel bed-sheets with a heave.

Billy arranges himself on the edge, limbs curled up to his chest. It doesn't take long for him to fall heavy. He keeps heavy-lidded watch of Steve, like he's afraid of what he'll do if he succumbs to sleep.

"I'll be waiting on the phone-call, so. You can get some sleep," He tries to reassure him so he'll quit burning a hole in his face.

After that, Billy lets out a small, grumble. He can no longer fight the heaviness of his eyes and slips away.

Steve can hardly believe the day he's had. He's tired, too. At this point, daylight is only a few hours away.

"I must be out of my mind," He murmurs, bringing the sheets over Billy’s shoulders. He flicks on the T.V. and turns it on low, watching the late-night shopping channel to give his eyes something else to focus on. To zone out to.

_A few hours_, he promises.

When the sun rises.

Billy seems perkier by morning when he rustles through bag of groceries Steve bought. But, stops short when he reaches the bottom, frowning.

Steve gives him what he's looking for: when he pitches the packet of Reds his way. He'd opened them outside and smoked one - a bad stress habit that he thought he'd kicked long ago.

Billy catches the box, grins bright. "Well, you deliver, Harrington. Can't deny that,"

Steve walks over to the motel windows. The floor is unpleasantly tacky beneath the soles of his shoes - he doesn't want to consider why. He peers through the blinds, eyeing his car and the car-park for any new visitors.

"Expecting company?"

"...The maid-service just completely skipped this room," Steve muses.

Billy barks a laugh. "Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but his whole place ain't exactly the cleanest."

He roots through the take-out bag, takes an obscenely large bite of the cheeseburger. Then, jams a handful of fries into one mouthful. He chews for a good while as he looks through the rest of the bags.

The knock-off aviators he bought from the store perch on the bridge of his nose. The tag dangles by his jaw, like his Great Aunt Louise's large, drop earrings. Steve fights a smile at the image.

"Maybe, the maids are just respecting your privacy,” Billy says, through a grin - like he knows some private joke he's not sharing with the class.

The black lenses hide his eyes but Steve can't ignore his smirk, the white flash of his teeth.

"What the Hell are you getting at?”

“They probably think you’re a closet case," Billy says, matter of factly. "Living your wild, double life out in the middle of nowhere. That's what these motels were _made_ for, Harrington."

Steve bristles. _And, what would he know about that?_ Does he think that's some kind of _joke_? He's too old for that dumb, locker-room shit.

"So, in this situation what would that make you?" Steve challenges, hands on his hips. "Since you're in here with me, and all?"

A slow smile cuts across Billy's cheeks. "Why don't you tell me?”

It’s....not the reply he expects.

Steve is stumped. Billy must be fucking with him - like he always did. To get a reaction. To get a rise out of him. Extending his arm out for him to grab, only to drop him flat. He remembers his games, and it seems they haven't changed. Too bad - he's not going to take the bait.

Steve breezes by it and walks over to the set-up on the table, El's picture resting above the laid-out map.

"So, how's this all work, anyways?" Steve asks, impatiently. "What can I do? Should I do anything?"

"Nothing," Billy wipes his greasy hands on a napkin. "Other than just standing there and looking pretty," He pulls the glasses off his face as he lowers his eyes to the photograph.

Steve gives him some more space. With El, he knows it's a little different. She needs a steady, noise to block out all distraction and quiet the world around her.

Billy says nothing of sound. He just lifts the photo, holds it lightly between his fingertips before he rests it back at the head of the map. The length of his fingers just span flat over the center, tendons of his fingers flexing.

Then, there's that awful hum again.

Steve hunches his shoulder as he braces himself. It's not painful, this time around. But, it's still unpleasant - enough to set his teeth on edge.

Billy's other hand braces on the table. He grips it hard when a visible shudder reverberates through him. A dark, trail of blood streams from his nose and down his philtrum with a startling quickness. It drips past his lips and down his chin. The wood of the table creaks under his tight grip.

He takes in a sharp breath that almost sounds fearful - jolts in place. Steve debates placing a hand on his arm, or shoulder. A small gesture to anchor him - it feels like the right thing to do. He's about to move - when Billy's shoulders fall.

All at once. The tension in his body relaxes, like all of it is drained out of him.

He lets out a long exhale. Blood drips from his chin onto the table like the beginning of a rainfall. Patters onto the map and the table in quick succession.

Both of his eyes are bloodshot when he lifts his head: the left one an explosion of red from a burst blood vessel. The tip of his finger taps once, twice at one location on the map - Steve knows the place well.

"She's...still in Hawkins?"

Billy's head falls, and he slumps forward onto the table.

"Hey, woah-" Steve whips out the napkin and presses it to his face. He tilts his face, supporting his jaw with his hand.

Billy's eyes are lazy and heavy, lashes sweeping like he's fighting the weight of them. Blue eyes swallowed by his pupils. The napkin blooms with red, damp against Steve’s fingers.

"Am I hurting you?” Steve asks - to make sure. Thumb lifting his chin a little higher.

Billy's eyes widen: a flicker of something flashes over his face. Quickly, he snatches hold of his wrist.

Again, Steve catches sight of the cut on Billy's wrist, pink with a slight sheen. He could've sworn that the wound was fresh the night before.

"You need to hurry. She's stopped. For now.” Billy furrows his brow, rubs at the space between his brows before he adds. “She’s…stopped moving,”

_Stopped moving?_

That's all Steve needs to make haste. He rushes to the phone and runs off Joyce's number in his head.

"Hello?" A voice answers. It's Lucas - his voice thick and rough with sleep.

"I know where El is," Steve blurts. "She's at Merill's farm. She's _in _Hawkins,"

"Wait, what?" Lucas's voice picks up. "How do you know that-?"

"Just, trust me on this, okay?" Steve tells him. "You need to hurry. Now,"

"A-alright," Lucas replies. "We'll check it out,"

"We'll meet you guys there," Steve says before the phone line cuts.

When he turns, he finds Billy standing up. Now, he's stuffing the clothes and snacks into the ruck-sack Steve bought him from the store. 

"Gonna need to you pay up, Harrington," He says, when he heaves it over his shoulder.

Steve side steps in the way of the door. He swallows his pride, any sense of hesitation when he sighs.

"Please, don't leave yet,"

He can't let him go. Not the one person, other than El, that can help with this. 

Billy shoots him a strange look, eyes trailing over him before he asks. "...Why not?"

"Because you can still help." 

At his reply, Billy's face falls. It's a familiar look - one that hasn't changed.

He sees the boy he'd met at the Byers. Nose bloody, shirt unbuttoned and unkempt. Shooting him a dejected look when Steve's fingers press to his chest. Back then, it was a look that gave him pause - moments before Billy had swung for him.

Steve braces for that - as he keeps going.

"If what you're saying is true, then this is a threat to _everyone. _If we lose. There's nowhere on Earth you can go to get away from this thing,"

"Then, I'll find some nice sunny place to live out the rest of my time. And, do whatever the Hell I want till then,"

Steve can't believe what he's hearing.

Billy distributes his weight on each foot for a moment and warns him sharply. "Move out of the way,"

"Why?" Steve snaps. "So you can just run away like a coward?"

It happens quickly. Billy surges forward and grasps the collar of his shirt in his fist. Steve wrestles with his force and grapples with the sides of his arms, gripping the material of his shirt as he stares him down.

"I told you to move," He says through his teeth.

"What about Max?"

For a moment, something flickers over Billy's eyes. This close, it's easy to catch. A small, fearful flinch. Although, it's brief.

Billy's mouth curls upwards in a snarl. "What about her?"

Steve flushes white-hot. "She needs to know what happened to you,"

"No, Harrington." Billy says, nose flaring. "She doesn't."

Steve's scalp prickles like tiny little needles. He thinks of Max at the house, sleepless and wrecked with nerves. She was _still_ fighting for him - willing to believe he was innocent. Wronged.

He's ashamed of it now, but Steve had once worried for her sanity. He'd wondered if those years had just simply taken too much of a toll on her. That she'd clung on to the possibility of some conspiracy. 

He'd been wrong. Max was right to be suspicious about the murder. But, she'd been wrong to care about someone who'd cared so little about her.

Only, it's then that Steve remembers. The reminder hits him like a wave of ice-cold water. He remembers what Max had told him - at Joyce's house.

_I saw him._

Steve studies Billy's face. “You don’t fool me, Hargrove. Why'd you go back to the house?"

Steve can tell from the way Billy's face pales - expression exposed and unguarded - that Max was telling the truth.

He _did_ go to the house. He went to find her: probably to see her again. Billy releases his hold on Steve's collar as he shrinks backwards, small and wide-eyed.

"How'd you-"

“She_ saw_ you,” Steve keeps pushing. "What were you doing there, man?"

"I had to know-” 

Steve frowns. "Know what?”

Billy looks furious when he glares up at him, gaze burning. When he moves again, Steve takes a step back. Until he's up against the door. He reasserts his guard. Holds the handle hostage.

There's a storm of emotions that wage war across Billy's face, fighting to gain a foot-hold. He's tight lipped when he utters, eyes fixed on Steve's like he's making a vow.

“**_We_** will find the girl,"

Steve's eyes widen. "…You'll help?"

"I said, we'll find her." He spits, cut short. "Before anyone else can."

Steve pauses at that, at the way he says it. There's more there, something that Billy is not letting on.

Before he can question it, Billy points at the center of his chest. "But, _you'll_ bring her back to her friends. And, you won't mention a word of me to Max."

Steve wrestles with the idea as Billy glowers at him - gaze hardening the longer Steve hesitates. How can he promise that?

How is he supposed to face Max, knowing what he knows?

But, all the time they waste, is time that El may be slipping away from them.

_Before anyone else can, _there's something about the way that he said that. If that someone else finds her first - they might lose her for good.

"Fine," Steve agrees.

He releases his hold on the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still honestly kinda don't get the Mindflayer but I'm kinda of running on the idea that it's a somewhat standard sci-fi "entity" sort of deal. 
> 
> I'm peppering in the fact that both Billy and Steve have been with men at this point, and have come to terms and are comfortable w their sexualities - but are obviously unaware of each others experience(s)


	4. Chapter 4

Steve drove to the place on the map with a palpable aura of nerves. Hands clenched tight around the steering wheel, white-collared shirt pulled loose, hair sticking up on end.

On Billy's instruction, he'd swerved into the open field, headlights spanning across the dark plains. The air misty with dust.

_If it had her, we'd know. _It was what he'd had told Steve. Before. It was what he knew, what he could tell from the signs.

Only. Half-way through the drive, he'd felt it.

Crawling cold up his neck like icy fingers. Minutes before the Earth collapsed, the road shaking beneath the car's wheels.

It had her. And, it was on the move.

"You gotta be kidding me," Steve shines his torch down a large hole in the Earth. To the deep, dark below - an old, murky tunnel.

Billy knows it's not too late - not if they move quickly. If Billy can get to her, maybe he can change things. Maybe make things _right. _

Steve turns to him. "Are you _sure_ she's-"

"Positive," Billy dangles his legs over the edge of the hole, before he jumps down.

"Woah, wait!-" Steve's voice is panicked as it chases him.

Dirt crumbles down overhead, crackling like egg-shells. The light of the torch finds Billy’s face like a light-house beacon, bright and glaring.

“You okay?” Steve asks. “You uh, alone down there?”

Billy shines his own torch down the tunnel. Long and wide, it stretches out before him. The air is moist with a scent of rot and decay. There’s something _wrong_ with the earth itself. From the scent in the air to the spongy, bounce of dirt beneath his feet.

"You comin' down, princess?" He asks, squinting back up at the spot-light over him. There, Steve is a silhouette, mane of hair hanging down over his face.

“_Jesus Christ,_” He hears him mumble, before he disappears for a moment.

When he finally jumps down to join him in the grim tunnels. He's burdened with his backpack, hanging loosely off one shoulder. Jammed in the netting on the side, is what looks like an aerosol can.

_No_, he realizes. It's hairspray.

Billy narrows his eyes. "Did your hair fall flat, pretty-boy?"

"I'm not taking chances down here," He presents a Zippo-lighter in his other hand. Then, steels his jaw as he strides forward, torch high.

Stevie is weirdly jumpy and irate as they travel deeper. Only, getting worse the deeper the further they get. Under his breath, Billy catches him mumbling. Now and again, he jumps and flinches at an oddly shaped root or a sharp turn in the dark. It offers some amusement until Billy's eyes are drawn elsewhere - to the prone figures strewn across the tunnel floor.

"Harrington," Billy stops in place.

"What?" Steve snaps.

Billy’s torchlight finds two bodies - soldiers, dressed head-to-toe in black. Billy goes a little colder.

“The Hell?" Steve stops. "Are they S.W.A.T?”

“Fraid not,” Billy notices the all-too familiar winged symbol on their shoulders. He pats the guy down. Finds two guns on his person, a hand-gun and a tranquilizer, still braced in his hands.

He tucks the handgun in the back of his jeans."So, we're _not _the only ones down here," He says as he stands up, trying to load the tranquilizer gun in the dim light.

Steve grabs his wrist. "You're not using that on her," He tells him, firmly.

"It's a tranq," Billy explains.

Steve frowns. He keeps his hand where it is, fingers wrapped tight around his wrist.

"We may need it," He adds, a little irritable.

"Why would we need it?" He presses, eyes narrowing.

When Billy doesn't answer, his eyes get bulge. "You told me that she was alright!" Steve advances.

"That was then,” Billy barks.

Steve throws his head back in disbelief. He turns and starts pacing, running his hand through his hair - looks likes he's stuck his finger in a light-socket.

"I can't predict the future, Harrington," Billy follows him.Then, Steve is turns on his heels, pointing at him. "_You_ dragged me down here, because you said that's where she was-,"

"Look, it's no picnic down here for me either,"

"Yeah, cos that's all you're concerned about, right? What’s good for _you_," Steve snaps. "Just as long as you can just high-tail it outta here as soon as possible,”

Billy steels his jaw, bites back any words that gather in his mouth like venom.

"You don’t give a shit about anyone,” Steve keeps going. “Not even Max, for Gods sake-,”

Billy charges forward and grasps the collar of his shirt in his fists. “You don’t know _shit_ about me, Harrington,” He hisses, pulling him close.

“I know enough,” Steve glowers, breath heavy.

“Oh, yeah?” Billy smiles, irately. “What the fuck do you know?”

“I know that if you _really_ cared about Max, you’d at least show your face,” He says. “Tell her where you’ve been, what happened to you,”

When he doesn’t reply, Steve squares his jaw, annoyed. “Or, at least drop by to let her know that you’re_ still_ an asshole,”

Billy tightens his grip. “She’s better off not knowing. About any of it. You can trust me on that,” Not just about where’s been or what happened to him. But, what he’s done.

Steve’s expression changes, slow and curious. Then, he softens. A surprising look of concern falling over his features.

“..What are you afraid of?”

The question catches Billy off-guard.

A tense silence stretches out between them. The air feels dense and weighted. The only sounds are their exhales of breath.

They're close, maybe too close. Billy is _sure_ he must be imagining it when Steve peers down for a brief second, lids falling half-mast. Dark over his warm, brown eyes.

He feels the fan of Steve’s heated breath against his mouth, tingling his skin. It sends a chill through him. He _wants_ to. He knows that he shouldn’t be thinking about him like that - Steve would hate it.

Wouldn't he?

In the shadows, it's hard to tell. It's even harder to tell with the way Steve doesn't speak, doesn't do anything but hold the same, heavy gaze.

It must be his imagination.

Billy releases his hold on him. After careful maneuvering, he manages to loads the tranquilizer.

“...Billy,” Steve’s voice is suddenly sharp, tight.

“What?”

Then, he sees it.

Something is moving in the dark towards him. In the dim-light, it almost looks like rippling water. It looks _wet. _Shimmering.

“The Hell-,” Billy lifts his arm to shines his torch on it to get a better look.

“Billy-,” Steve cuts in front of him, pushing him aside.

Flame erupts down the tunnel, searing his pupils with the bright light.

A hissing and screech pierces the air.

The weeping sore of a creature writhes. Swings its head around, flames licking the sides of its throat. It screeches as it crumples onto the floor. Billy doesn’t take a breath until it falls still, smoking and charred.

Billy moves slowly. Circling Steve as he passes him by. He feels his mouth lift up into grin when he gets a wider view. Steve's eyes are wide, hands still braced on the can and lighter - like he still expects it to stir.

Billy lets out a disbelieving laugh. "You roasted it,"

Steve lifts his head a little, finally lowering his weapon. Billy nudges the dead creature with the edge of his foot. Then, gives it a firm kick.

Steve doesn't say much. He just sighs - like he can't believe his luck - or lack thereof. 

"Demo-dogs,” He says to the skies - or the ceiling. “Just, great. I hate this place,"

Billy bends down to inspect it, grimacing. "Nothin' like a dog," He peels back the fleshy petal-shaped skin to reveal a row of needle-sharp teeth - Steve saved him a lotta hurt. He took it out before it could even touch him - he's impressed.

Steve isn't any calmer, though. He chews on his bottom lip, wipes the sweat off his brow with his sleeve.

"You've seen these things, before," Billy realizes as he follows his paces.

Steve nods, pushes back more of his hair. "I've _been_ down here before with these things,"

Billy takes a step closer. "What are you worrying about?" He asks, eyes falling over Steve's face. The pale complexion of his face under the torchlight, the sweat on his brow. "You kicked its ass. You barbecued the sucker,"

Steve doesn't look any more relieved. He lets out a small, sad laugh - like he has to laugh, or he might cry. "That's...not the only one,"

Billy's smile falls. "How many are there?"

Steve eyes lift to the ceiling - expression darkening his face before he answers. "I don't know,"

As they pass deeper into the tunnels, they're greeted with more light. The walls tremble and shake around them, soil and grit falling from overhead. Any moment it feels like it could collapse. Billy isn't even sure what's holding it up anymore. All he knows is that they have to keep going, to follow the light.

Billy is more than relieved when they find the end of it. To see the skies. The ceiling of the tunnels torn asunder. The early morning looming overhead.

Finally, they see her.

Before her, the earth has crumbled in a landslide, a stairwell of earth leading up to the world above.

She faces away from them; her hands are balled tight into fists. Blood drips between her fingers with how tight she's clenching them. Tapping on the floor like rain.

She's twitching, shoulders flinching. _Fighting_ it.

At her feet, are more of them. All dead. Billy can see some of their faces where the glass eye-guards on their helmets are shattered. He wonders briefly if he knows any of them.

There’s no time, though. They’re all gone now; all dead. There's no time to dwell.

Billy takes his chance to take the shot. Creeping forward, he lifts the tranquilizer gun. 

"Don't-" Steve grasps his arm fearfully. A sudden force knocks them both backwards, pelts across their bodies like a kick. The breath is punched out from his lungs. Billy lands to the floor with a huff, coughing and spluttering.

"El?" Steve splutters. Steve’s voice makes Billy’s blood go cold. He’s moving towards her. She’s watching him, eyes wide with a terrifying, haunted look.

Beneath their feet, the roots crackle and groan. The ground shakes. The roots begin to _move_ in the dirt. They break free from the soil, slithering across the ground.

“Steve,” Billy panics, tries to get his attention.

There's blood streaming down her face, down her chin. Billy watches as he eyes goes black, the tremble of her hand, her fingers locking up and curling.

“El. It’s me, Steve,” He raises his hands as he steps closer.

El frowns, mouth and brows twitching - like some part of her is trying to place him.

She is still there. Billy knows that now. If it were anyone else, he'd be dead by now - like so many of the other bodies at their feet.

That's when a sharp, snap splits the air. Billy runs forward as a vine darts towards Steve. He gets there in time to push him, pushing him onto the floor.

The pain in instant.

Piercing the right side of his abdomen. Billy splutters. He plants his feet and grabs the intrusion, preventing it from going all the way through. It’s sits inside him, rigid and sharp with edges.

He finds Steve’s eyes, where he’s looking at the vine, horrified.

Then, he lifts his eyes to Billy.

"D-do it," Billy forces out, winded. He flicks his eyes over to the gun, a few feet from Steve.

Steve clambers over to it, limbs clumsy as he crawls. Another vine swings across the floor, missing him as he throws himself forward onto the gun. He grips it in his hand and shoots.

El peers down at the little needle, poking out of the side of her stomach. She's frowning at it curiously. The blood streaming down her face almost looks like tears, trailing down her cheeks.

Then, the flickering vines fall flat onto the floor, lifeless.

The vine that pierced him falls loose, and slips from his body: it’s the worst part. He feels it the most, then.

Billy grits his teeth and groans as he falls down onto his knee, hand cupping the wound. Blood beating hot against his palm.

* * *

Steve carries El on his back as they climb the mountain of Earth and soil. His legs are on fire, dirt thick under his nails when he claws higher. He almost tips backward, a few times.

Until, he feels Billy's hand at his back, pushing him forward. “Keep going, Harrington,” He pants. “Don’t look back,”

When they reach the top, Steve reaches hauls Billy over the edge. He can hear them, from inside the tunnels. Their keening voices howl through the night, screeching and calling - for her.

Steve isn’t sure where they are on the surface. It’s a different road - a different field. Far from where they'd started. The tunnels had gone on for miles and miles, taken them further away from his car.

That's when he spots one, swerving towards them down the road. The headlights flash bright, as the driver pulls into the field, haphazardly swerving through the rougher terrain.

Steve catches sight of the driver and is flooded with a wave of relief.

"Get in!" Will shouts through the window. "Quick!"

All three of them get into the backseat, with El lying across them. Will's eyes bulge when he turns over his shoulder, finally meeting eyes with Billy.

"Not polite to stare, kid,"

A sharp, keening screech splits the air. "We gotta go," Steve hurries him. “Now!” He shouts, finally stirring Will from his wide-eyed stare.

He hits the gas and floors it. 

The four of them reach Hopper’s cabin to find it empty - all of the still out looking, searching for El.

Will carries El to her bed-room and stays with her while Steve boards the door. The floor is speckled with Billy's blood, dripping down the legs of his jeans. Yet, he still insists on helping with the barricading.

It isn’t till Steve manhandles him, forcing him to sit down, that Billy falls into a heap against the wall.

He finds his resting place there. Within range of the door, fingers loosely wrapped around the stolen hand-gun he’d taken from the dead guy in the tunnel.

In El’s room, Steve passes Will the tranquilizer gun. Will looks stoic as he takes it, turning it in his hand curiously.

"I'll be right there," Steve tells him when Will lifts his head. "If she wakes, you-",

"I'll know if it's her...or not," Will tells him, eyes staunch. "Trust me,” He brings his other hand up to the base of his neck as he turns to look at El, “It’s how I found you,”

Steve _does _trust him. He knows that Will knows it better than most. So, he leaves El in his care.

When he finds Billy again, he’s propped up against the wall by El’s room. His hand bloody and red against his abdomen, eyes low and heavy-lidded.

For a moment, he thinks he's gone. Steve goes ice cold at the thought, heart sinking.

Then, Billy twitches. He lets out an irritable groan, grits his teeth. "Hurts like a bitch,"

Steve leans down beside him, hand going to his tangled hair as he looks over his wound.

"Uh-," He tries to reach to pull Billy's hand away to get a good look. “Let me-,”

"No," Billy huffs.

"Alright, I’m sorry-," Steve immediately backs off, anxious. "Just, just don't move too much,”

Billy smacks his tongue to the roof of his mouth, eyes laden. "I just need rest," He drawls lazily. "It'll be fine,"

A...rest? Steve looks him over, heart in his throat. "Hop will get here soon," He nods. It’s going to be fine, he reminds himself. He’ll find them. "Then, we'll have to move you and, and-"

"You sure put a lot of faith in this cop." .

"He's not just _any_ cop,"

"Excuse me for being suspicious," He hisses sharply, baring his teeth. Steve flinches at the sound, at the sight of it.

He feels helpless. He shoots him a pleading look, questioning him his eyes. _Why? Why did you do that?_ He wants to ask.

_It’s my fault_, he thinks as he looks down at the wound, streaming over Billy’s fingers. Steve feels his eyes well with heat. _And, now he's going to die_.

A un-natural clicking sounds from outside the door.

_They've_ caught up with them. He hears them skulking outside the cabin, trying to find another way inside. He’d done his best to barricade everywhere.

Even so, he can’t help but feel his heart pick up its pace, on high alert for the smallest sound.

"Steve," Billy’s voice gives him a distraction.

“Yeah?” Steve turns.

Billy’s lips are pale, forehead gleaming with sweat. "I regret that night,” He tells him. “...That night I fucked you up, when we were kids,"

Steve feels the strangest urge to laugh. "What? Where did this come from?"

"Listen-" Billy insists, pawing on his white shirt. He winces again, white teeth baring. He makes a sudden sharp hissing sound and Steve flinches.

"Alright, okay," Steve leans in closer. "I'm listening," He tells him, reaching for his hand - trying his best to comfort him.

Billy re positions himself higher against the wall. "It's the truth," When he settles, he lets out a heavy sigh, eyes closing like they're too heavy to bear. "Used to think about you, all the time,"

Steve's eyes widen.

_....Think about you?_ Surely, he meant **it** \- meaning the night. Not _him_.

Steve brushes by the comment. He knows he’s not exactly thinking clearly. He clears his throat, tries to lighten the air between them.

"Is this you...trying to apologize?"

"I went too far."

"Five little letters, one word," Steve teases.

The next time he turns to him, Billy has set his eyes on him, serious and searching. "I'm sorry,"

Steve's smile falls. Well, he didn't expect that.

"It wasn't even...about you, you know." Billy continues. "Not _that_ night. Not...back then,"

Steve furrows his brows in confusion, trying to understand how else he could explain _that_ night, then.

"You.._hated _me," He reminds him.

Billy looks annoyed by the implication. "I never hated you." He scoffs.

Steve frowns, cogs turning slow in his head. Steve sure as Hell didn't want to know what he would've done to people he hated, then.

A small smile warms to Billy's face when he continues. "_King Steve_,” He laughs, almost fondly. Like remembering back to that time _was_ fond for him.

Considering what he'd been through in the last few years. Maybe, it was.

For Steve, it had been one of the worst years of his life.

It all sounds beyond ridiculous now - all of that high-school bullshit. But the hierarchy shit had to be the dumbest part of it all.

"Heard you weren't above anything, so I was prepared for a challenge," Billy shrugs. “But. You acted so above it all,"

_A challenge_? And, he said he _didn't_ hate him?

Steve remembered the days he hounded him in gym glass. Heated, sweaty skin tacky against the back of his shirt, voice breathy against his ear.

In the showers, he was always watching him. Steve would lather his hair roughly, trying to block him out - as best he could. Closing his eyes to avoid the heat of his gaze.

He was always getting under his skin. In his thoughts. _Always_ messing with him. Even when he wasn't around, he found his way into his dreams.

"You shouldn't sell yourself so short," Steve tells him. "You _were _annoying,"

Billy lets out a bark of laughter as his head falls back, liking the idea a little too much. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Steve rolls his eyes. He laughs, in kind. "You win top prize, congrats."

"Caught your attention,” Billy adds - it sounds like it should be a question.

But, he knows he knew better. Of course, he did. Everything he did caught his attention. And, everyone elses. Was that what it had been about?

"You were hard to ignore," Steve admits.

The change in the air between them moves in like gathering smoke, impeding his better judgement. It’s harder to breathe. To think clearly. Under his gaze, he loses focus. Billy's lids are heavy, cloaked by thick, dark lashes, cool-blue eyes capturing.

_He's pretty, _Steve thinks. _He's always been pretty. _It's a fitting word for him - even as a man.

Steve had long since gotten over any anxieties in recognizing that in other men. To appreciate it.He was no longer afraid to _look_ and allow his thoughts go where they would. And, to forgive himself when they did.

Billy_ is_ pretty. But, it makes him uneasy. With all his harshness and bite, that softness feels like a lure for a snare. He isn't sure where he stands with him.

Regardless, Steve finds himself drawn in. Caught in it.

He manages to tear his eyes away. He rubs at the space between his brows. He’s just tired. He hasn’t slept for over a day now. Sleep deprivation could drive a man crazy. He’s been close, a few times.

"I'm getting light-headed," Steve says.

"I have that effect on people sometimes,"

Steve can't help but laugh, a little annoyed. "Well, at least your mouth still works,"

“Sure does,” Billy snorts.

“I meant you can _talk,_” He adds, irritably. "Or, you won't shut up," Steve can’t hide the laugh Billy gets out of him.

Although, he thinks the fact that he’s able to joke like this is strange. Steve remembers being at his grandma’s death-bed. Hearing her give out with a slow, crackling wheeze of breath. Towards the end, she got confused when she was running low on oxygen, and had called out a woman's name for hours.

Billy might be dying, right now before his eyes - but he looks nothing like she did. He's still coherent, still looking at him, eyes lit bright and animated.

Other that the obvious pain and the blood. He doesn’t seem like he’s fading. Just, hurting.

Maybe, there’s still a chance, Steve hopes.

Billy pulls the packet of Reds he’d bought him from his pocket.

"You still got that light?" He asks, when he’s propped the cigarette between his lips.

Steve digs in his pocket, finds the cool metal of his lighter. He lights it for him. Watching the side of Billy's face lights up amber in the low-light.

Smoke billows from his parted lips before he passes it over to Steve. Steve accepts. It's been years but he's hoping it'll calm his nerves.

There’s another thump at the door, solid and hard. The forces splinters down the door, the paint splits on the inside like a claw mark.

Steve’s blood runs cold. He thinks of Will and El in the other room. Of how they'll escape.

Then, he knows how. If it comes to it, if the door is broken - he can buy them time. As much time as they need to get far away.

It's a grim thought.

It's not a way that he'd ever wanted to imagining dying - being torn apart by those things. Only, in his nightmares had it happened. He'd thought that those nightmares would remain there. Until, now.

When Steve finds Billy’s face again, he’s already looking at him. A ghost of a smile lingers on his mouth. All his thoughts are brought to a sharp halt when he realizes how close they are.

“They won’t get in,” He tells him, almost soft. _Almost_ reassuring. “Not for a while,”

"For _now_," Steve corrects, grimly. "...You really just live moment to moment,”

Billy grins. “Better than acting like you’re already dead,”

There’s another unpleasant purring sound at the door, a rolling guttural clicking sound. If he didn’t know any better, he’d _swear_ they were communicating. A creepy thought he'd rather not consider for long.

"Got any last wishes, Harrington?" Billy says, a little teasing. Although, there’s a sad, burdened look there on his face that gives Steve pause. He lowers his gaze, flicking briefly to Steve lips again. "Regrets?"

"You first," Steve responds, without thinking.

Billy lets out a short laugh. "Many," He admits with a grieving sigh. He swallows with difficultly, like something catches in his throat.

He puts out his cigarette, stubbing it out on the floor. "_One _that involves you," He smiles.

Billy knows exactly what he’s doing. He _must _do: to look at him like this.

Now, Steve knows he isn't imagining any of it. Billy is shameless when he smiles, tongue running briefly over his own bottom lip. Steve follows the trail of it - finds the light catching on wet, pink skin.

"What is it?" He asks, even though he knows.

The air gets dense again, thick like molasses. He feels it close around him, dizzying. Billy tilts his head and moves in slow. Yet, he stops inches from his lips. He smiles before he murmurs, low and warm.

"You're gonna hate me, more than you already do,"

Steve is already leaning in, murmuring quietly under his breath. "I don't...hate you,"

The kiss is softer than he would have ever expected - from someone like him. Amidst all the stress and chaos, it stills him. Steve hums into it. The warm pull of his lips, the light drag of his thumb across his cheek. Fingers warm and feather-light on the side of his neck.

A shiver travels down his spine. Steve finds his wrist, fingers wrapping around it to keep him there, holding the side of his face.

He follows his mouth when Billy's lips pull away, half-expecting for him to lean in again. He flushes when Billy doesn't.

If Billy notices, he doesn't say anything. He just holds Steve still. Hand on his face, thumb lightly tracing back and forth over his skin. Studying him - trailing over every feature like he's trying to memorize it.

Then, he smiles. It's a self-satisfied smirk - one that quickly reminds Steve who he’s dealing with.

"Not bad, Harrington," He gives his cheek a light tap, grinning. 

Clarity hits him like a bucket of ice-water. Steve pulls back, edges away from him. Billy lets his eyes fall closed like a cat in the sun, content. Unbothered.

A part of Steve almost wants to laughs at the absurdity of it all. Of this entire night and half a morning.

Only, any urge to laugh is quickly stopped when he looks down again. When he sees the blood on Billy’s skin, wet and shining on his fingers and hand.

When Steve stirs from sleep, he's still exhausted. Limbs heavy and aching, eyes drier than sand.

He's warm, though. Resting on something soft. The sleepy trail of his eyes find the wooden units and furniture, heaped at the front of the door. A thin thread of daylight slicing through the crack in the door.

And then, he remembers.

He shoots upright. It's bright outside: it's morning.

"Will?!" He shouts suddenly, panicked. "Will, are you here?"

There's a delayed, mumbling reply. "....I'm here,"

Then, Steve hears a weak groan from beside him.

_Billy._ When he turns, he finds him stirring. _Waking._ Peering through his long lashes up at him with a disgruntled look.

"You're awake," Steve breathes. He lets out a small, hysteric laugh when he cups his cheek. “You're....How-?”

Billy blinks lazily at him, like he's not sure where he is - for a moment. Eyes open and strangely vulnerable. Steve takes the chance to check his wound, now Billy's hand has fallen lax at his side, no longer covering it.

He stops.

The hole in his shirt is dark with old blood, dried hard and stiff in the fibers. Only, there's no sign of any injury. Of any wound, at all.

The skin is flat, soft to the touch. Healed.

Steve lifts his head and is met with Billy's wide, fearful eyes.

Steve’s mouth purses around a bewildered, _what?_ before a sharp, gunshot punches through the air.

The echo of another bursts through the forest outside, whipping through the air. He hears the sound of a sharp screech, a spitting hiss. Another shot burst through the air, against the door. Something hard slamming against it.

The whimpering, whine of the demo-dog descends into a wet guttural, death-rattle.

They hear the sound of heavy, footsteps on the deck outside. Followed by a sudden, hard knock.

"Open up,"

Steve tears his eyes from Billy at the voice. He finds Will's face as he peers through the gap of the boarded-window. Will turns to Steve and smiles bright with relief.

"It's Hopper,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I planned to have it up sooner, but I started school again recently. Things should be more frequent from here on out, though.


	5. Chapter 5

It's like clockwork over the next few days.

The creatures come in waves - in little groups of three of four. They prowl around the small cabin: hissing outside the door and windows.

In the night, the ground trembles. The night prior, the tremors had caused a few photo-frames to fall from the walls and crash to broken pieces on the floor. All night, the walls around them creak and shake - like the whole place was going to fall out from beneath them.

Luckily, it still stands. Although, Billy isn't sure for how long.

One of them had burst through the window. Kicked its wet, slimy body up before it sprang off the table, sliding wet and stained across the floor. It almost reached the door to El's room before Steve reached it. Catching the side of its head with a long, metal crowbar. He kept swinging wildly until it fell still.

The floor is still stained black where it lay dead: tacky beneath the soles of their shoes.

The activity is always highest in the early-hours of the morning. The few candles they found buried in Hopper's closet are almost burned down to their base, yellow wax weeping down the sides of the kitchen counters.

Byers-Junior buzzes across the kitchen, peering inside the cabinets. When he's done making his rounds, he returns to the little chart on the stained, crinkled piece of lined paper. Charting their remaining provisions into word and numbers. It seems to keep him occupied. Billy has seen the look in his eyes when he stays idle, fearful and haunted.

With his hair low over his face and his features narrowed with focus, he can see the resemblance to his nerdy older brother. Frowning down at the old camera he'd once carried around the lunch-hall.

Billy fights another yawn as he stumbles over to the crackling sound of the battery powered radio: their only source of news since the power went out. He turns it up a little higher and the voice mumbles.

_"Families forced to evacuate their homes when a sinkhole of unknown depths tore opened the Earth...,"_

It's then that Steve marches in from the other room.

The door slams shut after him as the Chief follows hot on his tail, stomping. It's the first time he's seen the old man since the other night - he'd rarely left the girl's side.

With Steve's insistence, he'd got some shut-eye, periodically - for an hour or two at the most. When he wasn't on patrol, he was there, by her bed-side. Large, worn fingers wrapped around her pale, limp hand.

"Look, we can't keep her here anymore," Steve sighs. "She needs to be in a hospital,"

"And, you think I don't know that?"

_"...experts claim the collapse is likely due to the dissolution of large gypsum deposits-” _Steve shoots him a cranky look. He cuts off the radio, turning the dial with a click.

"I think you're holding out hope for her to pull through. Or, for the others to find they way to us," Steve he rubs at his eyes, hair frayed and separated from days without wash. "But, it's been _two_ days. Most of Hawkins has been evacuated. And, she _still_ hasn't woken up. Even if she does, we can't be sure it's her-,"

"I _know_ she's in there," The older man snaps - like Steve had implied she wasn't.

"I didn't _say_-" Steve stops and inhales a breath.

He's trying to be careful - Billy can tell. He knows that the older man is on edge. They all are. Two days without a decent few hours of sleep and limited food will do that to a person.

The Chief's eyes fall low. Red, exhausted eyes burning a hole at a spot on the floor.

"I can't...I can't leave her alone," He murmurs. "Not when I know she's still in there, fighting,"

The girl had only needed the sedative once. Since the last time, she had not stirred. She was inside_ that_ place: Billy knew it well. The mirrored world with no end.

He was right - she must be holding it off. For now, at least.

If anyone could fight it off, it was her.

"I'll go," Steve suggests. "I'll mark an off-road path for us. A secure one. In the meantime, you guys can keep her safe here-"

"Don't be stupid," The Chief snaps. "You can't go out there alone,"

"I'll go with him," Billy says.

At the sound of his voice, the two of them lift their heads. The Chief looks at him like he's just remembered he's there - and despises the fact.

"_You_." He repeats, nose flaring.

"Why not?" Billy says. "I can take a few hits,"

He'd demonstrated with the serrated carving knife from Chief's drawer. Pressed deep as he slid it across the skin of his arm. They'd all leaned their heads in in to watch as the blood had spilled freely onto the wooden floor.

The skin flushed red and inflamed, itching like crazy. Before it sealed upwards like needle-work through a split seam.

"Two hands are better than one, right?" Billy shoots Steve a smirk.

Steve's eyes go wide and frantic – like the old man’s going to catch on to something. Only, the older man's eyes are fixed on Billy.

He walks towards him, feet heavy and thumping on the wooden paneled floor. The hollows under his eyes appear deeper up-close, sockets dark with shadow.

Before Billy can speak, he grabs him by the collar of his shirt, wrenches it hard and tight in his fists like a noose.

"I don't trust you, kid," He spits. "And, if anything should happen, that would give me cause to doubt you. Or, if you should be the reason that anyone here comes to any harm," His eyes are lit with fury when he adds, slow and biting. "You'll answer to me. Is that clear?"

Billy flushes with irritation at being man-handled. But, he knows the look - one of a man whose got nothing to lose. He isn't in a position to argue with the sleep deprived, grieving cop with a temper and a shot-gun.

Reluctantly, he gives in.

"Crystal," He complies through his teeth.

When he releases him, Billy straightens his shirt. He doesn't linger.

The outside air of the forest is a blessing.

Quickly, he collects the axe from outside the Chief's cabin. He rushes to catch up to Steve, boots crunching on the crinkling, fallen leaves.

Steve had been weird with him - ever since the kiss. Eyes pulling away from his whenever they met, when they lingered a little too long. Billy kept looking - kept finding them again when they were alone. Steve didn't seem to like that. He'd switched patrols with the Kid to avoid him - on purpose.

Until, now.

They kill a total of nine between them.

Billy would've kept score. Maybe, even made a game out of it - if Harrington weren't being such a surly bitch. They charted their way through the forest trail, marking the safe ground with red, trail tape. Wide enough to drive through, where the ground was sturdy and untainted.

The smell in the air makes Billy's mouth curl. Reminds him of a Halloween when his Mom was still around.

He'd cut his palm on the knife while cutting the pumpkins face: spilling the innards onto the floor and smashing the plate to pieces. Neil had beat his ass for making a mess. The pulpy, scent of the innards of the overripe, gored pumpkin clung to his memory.

The rot beneath the Earth seems to be spreading, growing beneath them under the tunnels. The unstable ground felt spongy, wet and springy beneath their feet. The plants in those areas were withering, dying - their leaves turning grey and lifeless.

It's a little after lunch when they reach a main road, their path mapped out for Hopper's car.

Steve's hands are covered in muck and dirt. Uselessly, he wipes them onto his jeans. Billy's are no better from the fight with the last creature, splattered with black blood.

They're exhausted by the time they follow their trail back to the cabin.

They share a crumbling box of stale saltines and some peanut butter from the Chief's cabinet - just a few of the rations that the kid had found in Chief's limited supplies.

After some food, Steve seems to perk up a little bit. Enough to talk to him - at least.

"_God_, I'd do anything for a burger and fries, right now," A dried, anemic crumb of saltine sticks to his bottom lip as he takes a sad, resistant bite.

Billy runs his finger inside the peanut butter jar before he pops it into his mouth, thick and tacky on his tongue. It's not much, but it's better than nothing. The sugar rushes straight to his brain.

"Anything?"

Steve rolls his eyes in reply. Billy counts it as a win when he notices the small smirk lift the side of his mouth.

"So," Steve says, walking slight on the forest floor. "Where exactly did you plan on running off to?"

If - by some miracle - they all got out of this shit alive. Billy planned on spending the time he had left doing whatever the fuck he wanted.

Fuck whoever he wanted. Travel wherever he wanted. See the millennium. Probably, die at around forty - sounds as good as he could hope for. At this rate, anyway.

1994....He had already missed so much.

However, he'd had a destination in mind. Years ago, he'd known only _one_ place he'd once called home. He would have to try there, first.

"Go back to Cali," He answers without hesitation.

Steve tilts his head in consideration, lips pouting. "Yeah, you could really use the tan,"

Billy scoffs with affront. "You can talk,"

Steve just smiles again, like a little shit. "You know, I barely recognized you without the hair," He tugs at the end of his, smiling.

Billy misses it, too. He took for granted just how cold it could get without it.

"It'll grow back," He says, rubbing the back of his head. They'd shaved it for years so they could get to his skull - but it had grown a little more now.

Neil chewed him out for letting him grow out the first time. And, for the earrings, the jeans, the music, the jewelry. He gave up trying to please him at around twelve years old - when he realized that he always found something to rag on, anyway.

"You know, you got a lotta nerve talking about my fashion sense, you yuppy shit-head,"

Steve stops and turns to him, mildly amused. _"Yuppy_," He repeats. "Been a _while _since I heard that,"

Billy doesn't need another reminder that he's a _little _out of touch. "Guess I'm a walking, talking' time capsule,"

Steve laughs. "I guess so," He smiles at him, warm and inviting. It sends an unwelcome warmth through Billy - unwelcome and a little annoying. He’s far too old to be acting like such a virgin over a smile.

Although...it_ has_ been a long time. Hell, the brats probably now got more action than him now.

A gross thought. And, a depressing one.

Steve seems to notice his lingering look. He clears his throat, turns to keep walking. Dead-leaves crinkle beneath the thick boots he borrowed from the Chief.

"Man, it seems like forever ago," He says a little thoughtfully. "I always knew...I'd be back here," He begins, eyes falling to the floor. "In the back of my mind, it always felt...inevitable. Like, when you put off a chore until the last second,"

Billy lets him talk - just listening. He knows there's no one else he can be this so honest with - not right now. Not while he's trying to keep up an act for the other two. Billy has seen that for the past few days. It's an act that only falls when he thinks no one is watching.

"And, that's probably because it never went away, right?" Steve scoffs, grimly. "We never _actually_ got rid of this thing. It's always been here...._Waiting_ for us," When Steve lifts his head, he shoots Billy a somewhat bashful look. "I guess.... you know that, though,"

"Sure," He shrugs. Yeah, he did. He wishes he didn't.

"We're in such deep shit," Steve lets out a nervous laugh, high and threaded. "Hawkins is sinking and El is..." He stops, voice catching and cut short.

Billy looks at him again. He'd never known how much he'd cared for the girl, until now. Honestly, he'd known very little of Eleven: the _person_. She was only a name. Only a number. A blurry photograph slid across a chrome table surface. Now, seeing Steve this upset - he's starting to realize how large her presence was.

"You know..." Steve sighs. "Cali does sound _real_ nice, right about now," He muses as he turns to keep walking.

Billy catches up to walk parallel to him. He moves a little closer, gives him a light playful nudge with his arm.

"Maybe, we'll head there when this is over,” He tells him, tone light and half-teasing. "I'll show you around,"

Steve scoffs, like it's a total joke. "Sure," He says, with a shrug - and that's enough for Billy, who takes it in his stride.

“If we make it out of here, that is,” Steve stops mid-step and turns to face him. He smiles and Billy soaks it in.

A small breadth of silence passes between them and Billy's gaze lowers. God, he wants to kiss him again. He hasn't been able to stop thinking about it - not since Steve let him. Since he'd kissed him the first time.

Steve had wanted it - just as much as him. He could feel it in the way he kissed him back, the way he chased him for more. The thought is a little dizzying. Being around him every day since hasn't helped the thought.

He can't help but wonder if he's thought about it since.

Billy takes a step closer, holding his gaze. Steve doesn't protest when he advances. The warm brown of his eyes falling dark and heavy.

Billy latches onto the promise in that look, clings on like something rare and precious. Steve shouldn't hand something like it to him so freely, and yet. It's easy to slip when there was nothing to lose - when they could be dead by tomorrow.

So, he leans in.

Steve's lips are as soft as he remembers. He brings a hand to Steve's cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing light over the skin of his cheek. Soft and teasing, at first. Careful. Steve's drawn in when he teases his bottom lip, lips moving slow but a little unsure. Yet, he's responsive when he tilts his head. He moves where Billy leads.

Billy feels his heart pick up its pace. He wonders if Steve can hear it - alive and frantic in his chest. He hopes he can't. He doesn't need to know just how much he wants this - how much he's always wanted this.

Steve lets out a small, keening moan against his mouth. The sound lights a fire in his belly. Billy's restraint is finite.

He isn't as soft when he pushes Steve against the tree. When he pins him against it, Steve's mouth parts with a small gasp. Billy's tongue slips inside and drags up over his top lip. He takes it between his lips, sucks on the full swell of it. Steve huffs against his mouth, breath warm and hurried as he kisses back.

Billy's hands move down his chest, running over his nipples through his shirt. Another sigh slips from Steve's mouth, rumbling against his lips.

Billy wants to hear more. He needs to. He trails his palms down his torso and around his waist. To get low enough to get a grip on his ass.

He squeezes it as he grinds into him. He can feel Steve's cock through the material of his jeans, the length of it thickening beneath.

Billy's head spins. He wonders if he'll let him blow him out here. The visual of it rushes through him like a hit. Suddenly, he's desperate, reaching around the front of Steve's jeans to undo them, to finally get a hand on him.

That's when Steve pulls away.

The length of his hair is askew and standing up on end, lips puffy and bitten red raw.

"Jesus..I-" He says, screwing his eyes shut. "I can't do this,"

Billy tries not to look as deflated as he feels. "Can't what?" He grins - brushing off the rejection with a smile before he tries his luck. "Can't blow off a little steam?"

Steve lets himself laugh - just a little. Before, he goes stern. He clears his throat and backs up, flushing.

"For starters, this is _not_ the time," He says, a little breathlessly. Ruffles his hand through his hair again. "And, secondly..you're _you_,"

Billy frowns. "..You seemed fine with that before,"

Steve opens his mouth and closes it again like a fish. "I..I thought you were _dying_," He splutters. "And, you made me think you _were_-"

Now, that was all wrong: that wasn't how it went. Did he think he was trying to trick him, on purpose?

"I didn't _make_ you think shit, Steve," Billy tells him. "If the Chief hadn't shown up, we may have _all _been lizard-dog food,"

Steve's brows furrow. "Demo-dog," He corrects him.

"Whatever,"

"Wait, so, you _can_-," Steve narrows his eyes. "You _could_ have…"

"Died?" Billy finishes. "Far as I know, yeah. There are _some _things you can't come back from,"

_It has to be the brain_, he remembers. He'd never felt more like a freak when he'd heard - like an un-dead zombie from some dumb horror movie. The gruesome limits of his state were not something he ever wanted to visualize.

Steve mulls it over before he asks. "Like...what?"

Billy shoots him a deadpan look. "_What_?" He scoffs. "You want the specifics so you can whack me later?”

“God, no, I-,” Steve winces. Again, his eyes fall low, dropping to Billy's torso. “It’s just…” He trails off, eyes low.

Billy feels his hand reach out to his stomach, where the wound had healed. The span of his fingers are warm as they stretch out across his skin, drag over his torso through his shirt. The casual touch floods Billy with want. He wants _so _badly to lean in again. He wonders if Steve knows wants he's doing to him.

"How'd this happen to you?" Steve asks, soft. "Did _they_ do this?"

And, that does it.

Talking about _that_ place is one sure-fire way to make him tofu-soft.

Billy lets out a sigh, releases his grip on Steve's waist and pulls away.

"Wasn't them." He begins. "Exposure to that place changes you. If you survive, the body adapts in all kinds of fun ways,"

He hates talking about it, thinking about it. It's not his life anymore. He was supposed to be free of it all. He'd sooner die than go back. He would do _anything_ to avoid going back to that place.

At that, Steve frowns, cogs turning. "Then, does that mean Will...?"

Billy knew the kid. Sometimes, he got this _sense_ when he stood near him - he felt familiar. Like, the drifting feeling of deja-vu. Or, when you were sure you recognized a face from a dream.

"It's likely," He says. "I'm sure he'd know himself,"

When Steve reaches for Billy's wrist, he bristles. Steve's gaze is careful, eyes warm and gold in the sunlight. There's only softness there: a tentative warmth. So, Billy relaxes.

He lets him turn it face-up. The little _019_ on his wrist facing the skies: the number that he keeps scratching, burning, slicing off. No matter what he did, it seeped back through the skin - mocking his attempt.

"How many of you were there?" He asks, softly.

"Didn't count," Billy's eyes linger on the Steve's profile, the swell of his full lips and the little moles on his cheeks. He allows himself to look while Steve is occupied. He's cognizant of the softness in his touch, the feel, shape and warmth of his fingers.

"We were a different project to the girl. Different goal. A bunch of fuck ups and disposables,"

Steve lifts his head, confused. "Disposables?"

"Addicts, homeless and criminal screw-ups." Billy leans in, with a sharp, wry grin. "I fall in with the latter," He says - like that wasn't obvious.

Steve doesn't return the smile.

He just stares. Both his eyes go wide with horror. "Shit.." He lets out a breath, like it's punched from him. "That's...fucked up,"

Billy isn't sure how to react. It's been so many years for him. I mean, sure it was fucked. But, no one else around him had recognized that fact. Until, now, that is. The earnest, reaction of shock catches him a little off-guard.

Billy tries to hide his unease at the way Steve keeps looking at him: doe-eyed and mournful. _Pitying_, some part of him thinks grimly. There's nothing worse.

Billy juts his chin out and takes a bold step forward. "Don't pout on my account, Harrington," He leans into his space again. Watches as Steve's glance gets a little hazy and clouded. "..I might get the wrong idea,"

A loud, piercing shot whips through the air.

The sound splinters the tree by Steve's head, cracking the tree-bark. A splintered piece catches Billy on the eyebrow.

A few birds screech and caw overhead as they fly from their nests.

"Down," Billy tells Steve as he grabs him, ducking to move. The shots pierce through the air as they move. The trees are too narrow to block them. They have to find better cover, he realizes. Out here, they're done for.

"Shit-" Steve curses. That time, the shot narrowly misses Steve's shoulder. Billy's eyes go wide. They _almost _got him, he realizes - flushing hot with anger.

From that shot, Billy tracks the movement in the grass. The movement and shadow in the trees, trailing after them both.

"Billy, wait-" Steve tries to stop him but he slips through his grip. He's already on the move. He runs at the figure. For a beat, they seem a little startled at someone running at them - like Billy hoped they would be.

Until, he lifts the gun high, shoots twice. The force punches and pummels hard and fast into Billy's shoulder and his right arm.

Billy throws the axe at him with a large swing. The man swears but dodges it, throwing himself out of the way. That gives him enough time to reach him. Billy grapples with him, tries to wrestle the gun from his hand.

The man is stronger, larger. He jerks both of their hold of the gun to one side, releases it a fraction, then pushes forward. Bringing it hard across the side of Billy's head.

A flash of white light bursts over Billy's vision, knocking him onto the floor. The side of his head throbbing. When he opens his eyes, he's starting down the barrel of the gun. It loads with a _click._

Then, Steve is there.

He charges into the man hard enough to topple him over, knocking the gun out of his hand and across the forest floor. The two of them struggle to reach it, the man grabbing Steve's ankle as he almost finds it. He hauls Steve across the ground.

Billy's head is throbbing. He can hear Steve cry out, struggling. He feels his chest seize with the sound. The man has his hands around Steve's throat, squeezing tight. Steve's legs are kicking in the struggle. He's gasping for breath.

Billy finds a jagged stone by his foot. He grasps it and swings. Striking the attacker in back of his head.

The man releases his hold and falls to one side. Lets out a long, heavy groan as he crawls on the ground, reaching for his gun.

But, not before Billy grabs him. He forces him down, pinning him to the floor. Then, brings down the jagged rock again. Colliding with the man's face. Again and again and again.

He's blinded with a primal, overwhelming panic. It's almost as if he can feel Neil's hands around his throat. He can hear Steve choking and struggling for breath.

He needs to end it. To stop him. For good. To stop him from hurting them.

It's either him or them. Him or them.

"Billy-!" Steve's ragged voice cuts through the sound of roaring blood in his ears. 

The world floods with color again. It's as quiet as a grave around them.

But, Billy is loud: his breath heaving and monstrous. The blood-rush sifts through him like sand through an hourglass.

The man beneath him is dead and gone - his face an unrecognizable mulch. The realization falls over Billy like a shadow. He gets up a little shaky on his feet, head swimming.

Steve coughs, his hand rubbing his throat. "Was that-"

"From the lab," Billy staggers over to him, arm hot and hanging at his side. He's lost feeling in it. "They must be looking for the girl,"

"Billy," Steve reaches for him, light fingers brushing his shoulder near his collarbone. "You got hit," Pain flares through him when he looks down at the bloom of blood. No longer numbed by the race of his adrenaline, his mind catches up. He _feels _it keenly.

The heat is the worst. It sears him, white-hot. An ache shoots down his arm and throbs through his shoulder like a nagging toothache.

"You can't just throw yourself around like that," Steve reprimands him.

Billy tries to roll his shoulder, nudge him off. "It'll just burn for a bit," He tells him. "It's nothing,"

"No, it isn't," Steve insists, applying pressure to the bullet wound on his arm. He holds his eyes when he speaks, firmly. "It still matters,"

Billy's breath comes out a little ragged when he watches Steve - still worrying over his wound. Soft and careful as he checks the one on his arm, throbbing with pain and ache. A lump forms in his throat, his chest feels tight.

Billy shoves Steve away, knocking him back a step. "I said it's nothing," He barks.

He turns to collect the axe from the floor. Limping a little as he marches on, following the little red tags leading them back to the cabin.

"We ought to get back. That won't be the only one," He tells him, still out of breath. "The girl still needs us,"


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, sorry for the delays.  
I started a new part-time job and school has been a lot. But I have more free time now over the holidays to update. 
> 
> Thank you for your comments/kudos, guys. I really appreciate it.

Billy slumps on the car-door, holding it wide with the weight of his body. Hopper brings El out and lays her down in the backseat. She's pale and small. The shape of her face comes to a narrow point on her chin and the bones of her cheeks all too prominent. Billy lingers on the shadows of her face, feels cold wash over him.

"Do you need any help?" Byers Junior's voice stirs him from his thoughts. He's careful as he approaches him, wary.

Billy does initially tense up. He's still wired from their fight in the forest. Jittery and on edge.

That's when Will's lets out a shout that turns him cold.

"Steve-!?" 

Billy follows the boy's fearful gaze. He eyes find Steve, stopped short by the door of the cabin.

One of the creatures block his path, circling his movements, hissing and snapping.

Billy's hand reaches for the axe in his belt. He moves quiet and quick, in an attempt to catch it unaware, sneaking back up towards the cabin. Towards Steve. He's almost there when Steve makes eye contact.

Steve carefully lifts his eyes: brown eyes widening with fear.

Yet, he's not looking at the creature. He looks _behind_ Billy.

That's when another unpleasant screech splits the air. It rings in his ears.

Something slams hard into Billy's back.

It's sharp as it clips him, juts his hip to one side and knocks him off kilter. The world tilts on its side as Billy rolls across the forest floor, axe slipping from his grip. He splutters when he sits upright, trying to gain a foothold.

There's the briefest, horrifyingly wide flash of a creature's jaws. A blood-red flower. Then, it's closing around firmly around his legs. A flare of pain bursts across his skin, as a thousand teeth puncturing both of his calves. Billy has time to let out a cry, just before it drags him. Hauls him hard down the forest floor.

He claws at the dirt with his fingers, trying to sink into the Earth. To find purchase. It pulls him further and further away from the others. Wet leaves and mud heap under his shirt and in his hair.

He's so far now. He can't even see the car anymore. Billy's heart races in his chest at the thought. Panic seizing him tight in an icy grip.

Finally it slows, but it's jaw is still locked around his skin. The weepy flesh of its mouth purses over his legs. It looks like its trying to _drain_ him. Billy digs his nails into its mouth, claws in deep, nails digging into its skin. He raises his other arm and swings. It's pushing its teeth deeper into his flesh, but he doesn't care. He just wants to hurt the thing: to crush its head under his fist.

There's another screech in the trees: the other one is not far behind. It can smell his blood: its drawing them _to_ him. The scent of his blood. Billy keeps swinging and clawing. He doesn't stop until the creature lets out one sharp, ear-piercing screech.

Finally, it releases his leg, stumbling. It shakes it's head like a dog and screeches loudly. It opens its mouth wide with a hiss.

The forest ground beats like a drum beneath him.

And, Steve is there before he can raise his head.

He swings the axe. It falls on creature’s head, hacking through its flesh. It whimpers and cowers as it sinks in deep. He swings again, and again and again. Brings it down onto its neck until he renders it's from its shoulders.

Steve is gasping when he turns to Billy. He reaches for him. Hauls him up with a pained grunt.

"The Hell are...you doing-" Billy hears himself say, words addled.

"Lean against me," Steve insists, pulling him in. When Billy is slow to react, he turns with wild eyes. "Do it!"

Billy does what he says. They start to move quickly. Yet, the trail of his blood follows behind them. Billy can hear the strain in Steve's breath -panicked and heaving. There's a screech in the distance and Steve quickens his steps, pulls Billy against him tighter. For a moment, he'd thought....they'd leave him.

Relief floods his chest when he sees the headlights, bright white as the car swerves out before them.

"Steve-!" Will exclaims when the door opens. "Is he okay?"

"We're good," Steve pants. "I've got him, I've got him,"

Billy is dizzy and reeling as he slumps into the seat. Steve is yelling at Hopper in the driver’s seat, and the car swerves.

A loud thump slams against the door: it almost sounds loud enough to crush the outside. Steve curses loudly. Billy can't find focus amidst all the noise and the dancing shadows.

The muscles of his legs are burning hot - the bites feel different: they're slower to heal. He can tell. Billy's head swims as the car jerks and leaps on the unstable ground. The edges of his vision begin to blur and darken. He can't keep them open anymore.

Billy wakes dazed and sore. Pupils searing with the glare of a streetlight through a car-window, stippled with little beads of raindrops. A long coat is draped over his body, covering him up to his neck. Billy recognizes it as Steve's. Or, rather, the large hunting-coat that Steve borrowed from Hopper. Billy reaches down to it, running his fingers over the collar.

There's a hard, solid wrap on the window.

The fog clears as Billy starts, slowly adjusting to his surroundings. He's in the backseat of the car they escaped in. In a parking-lot.

They made it to the hospital, he realizes. A little dazedly.

Hopper stands on the opposite car-door by his feet. Peering at him through the glass, and frowning from beneath his beard - as per usual.

The Chief's voice is muffled as he speaks. Yet, he jabs a finger in his direction through the glass. Billy blinks at him and raises his eyebrows in response. He points to himself. But, he doesn't move an inch.

The Chief grumbles as he pulls open the car door. He drops a pile of clothes onto Billy's feet.

"Change into these," He tells him brusquely. "You can't walk around like that without scaring people to death,"

It's a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve plaid shirt. Both way too big for him but a damn sight less grimy than what he's wearing for the past few days. Billy lifts his head and finds the older man's face, worn and weathered from days without sleep.

"How is she?" Billy asks.

The older man's jaw tightens, eyes narrowing with some suspicion. But, he doesn't say anything. Billy assumes he'd snap if she weren't stable. The silence almost seems like a good sign, for El at least.

Billy sits upright and peels off his shirt, tacky with dried blood. He rolls his shoulders, wincing at the dull ache. Old blood clings to his skin, to the little hairs on his chest. He's tired of the tacky feel of it against his skin. The smell of it in his nose, the taste of it on his tongue. God, what he wouldn't do for a shower, right now.

As he buttons up the loose red and black, plaid-shirt, he finds Hopper's eyes through the crack of the open door, still as he folds his arms across his chest.

"You're letting in a draft," When he continues to stare - without a word - Billy stops, raising his eyebrows expectantly. "Is this a peep show, or what?"

The older man's face darkens. He leans in through the gap in the door, eyes firm.

"Do _not_ run off," He orders. "You'll stay where I can keep an eye on you," He brings the door to a close before Billy can reply.

Billy finishes getting dressed, pulling on the jeans over his legs. The wounds on his legs are healing. Formed into little pink scars, the skin thin and fragile. In the cool air, the skin tingles slightly.

The ICU Reception is lit a florescent yellow and white. From the desks, the shrill tones of the telephones erupt with calls. The receptionists sighing before the answer in steady, practiced tones. Billy wanders into the waiting room, the T.V. in the right-hand corner of the room is playing. The laugh track bounces off the walls. As he lingers, he makes eye contact with a few people waiting. A few of them shoot him a suspicious glare when they double-take.

It's overwhelming: being surrounded by so many strangers at once. It makes his breath tighten in his chest, fingers tight and palms sweaty. He looks to find something to hold onto, something that doesn't make him feel so out of place.

Finally, he finds Steve.

He leans beside the pay-phone on the wall, pressing in the numbers with a small furrow in his brow. The ruffled strands of his hair hang limp over his brow before he sweeps his hand back through it. Even grubby and disheveled, the guy still looks good. It's a little annoying, honestly.

Billy smiles as he moves closer. Steve words become clearer as he draws near.

"I'll be careful, I promise," To the person on the other line, he talks with a purposeful, clarity. He rubs the creases out of his furrowed brow and sighs.

"I call you tomorrow, okay?" He drops his hand to his side, head falling low. "Love you, too,"

Billy isn't sure why that takes his breath away. Of course, it makes sense. Steve has a life - outside of all this chaos. One that he's built for the past nine years. He gets that. It all makes sense. And, yet, it is still there in his chest - a dull, bitter ache. Steve doesn't notice him. So, Billy slips away to get some air.

When he finds his way back to the entrance, it's raining in a light mist. The air heavy and moist. The neon, lights of passing cars, of movement, is a nice reprieve from the quiet woods around Hopper's cabin. From having to strain his eyes, to peer into the dark. Billy leans forward onto the metal stair railing, watches the red glare of head-lights on the wet concrete.

"Hey," A small voice sounds from behind him, just before Byers Juniors joins him by his side. In both hands, he holds two plastic cups of coffee - he passes him one.

"Thought you might need one," He comments, giving him a small, hesitant smile. It falls for a moment when he looks him over. "Is your leg...?"

"Good as new," Billy takes the coffee from his grip and takes an unceremonious gulp. It's a little hot: he kinda regrets it when his eyes water but doesn't let it show that he's scalded his tongue.

"Is it weird?" Will asks.

Billy smacks his tongue to his dry palette. "It's bitter as fuck,"

Will laughs. "No, I mean. Being back here,” He searches Billy’s face curiously. “I was watching you back inside. You looked a little-"

Billy frowns._ I looked a little...what?_ He bristles, eyes narrowing.

"I just thought that might be why you came out here,"

It's a little unnerving. The kid is perceptive - maybe, a little too perceptive. Quiet, watchful types like him were dangerous - always seeing too much while going unnoticed.

Billy mulls it over for a second. Before, he peers up at the worn, sign for _Hawkins General Hospital_.

Hawkins: his own personal purgatory.

"Still stuck in the same old shit-hole," He shrugs. "Heard you escaped, though,"

Will laughs, a little. "Well, yeah I-," He stops, presses his mouth together for a moment anxiously, before he adds. "A small town like Hawkins isn't exactly...the best place for someone like me,"

Billy goes still. The look Will gives him is the only answer he needs: it's written all over his face. Years ago, he'd seen the same in his own. A flicker of fear, bracing for the worst - verging between taking it all back. Hesitantly waiting in those painful seconds for some kind of response.

Billy just scoffs. "Well, well, well," He says, grinning. "Hawkins sure does breed them all,"

Will smiles, a little relieved.

Billy realizes he'd put a lot on the line, telling him something like that. It seems like a huge risk - one that Billy wouldn't have taken as easily.

"So does California," Will adds, after a beat.

Suddenly, it makes sense why he told him. Billy’s smirk falls and he shoots him a sharp, pointed glare. He lets out an incredulous chuff of disbelief.

"Sorry,” Will flushes. “I shouldn't hav-"

"Damn right," Billy sounds sharply.

When it was still fresh and new to him, a comment like that would’ve pissed him off. It’s something he’s accepted about himself.

Now. _Over_ the years. No matter how much his old man tried to beat it out of him. Or, how much he may have once wished and prayed for things to be different. It's simply was a part of who he is.

Billy scratches roughly at the back of his head. "Guess we're square, in this case," He says, tips the coffee in his direction.

Will tilts his head. "For...the coffee?"

"The tunnels," Billy clarifies. If it weren't for him, who knows what might've happened. "You got us all outta there. Saved our asses,"

"Oh," Will's gaze falls, remembering that. His expression is solemn as he thinks it over.

"I knew where you were," He admits, a little concerned. "I just...I _felt_ it.. you know?," The way he speaks, it’s like he’s terrified by the idea. By the feeling that's beyond most people’s understanding. To share some kind of connection with something like that. Will has been changed by that place, too. Billy feels that strange, grim kinship every time he's near him.

Billy studies his face curiously. "S'not abnormal," He says. "There are a lot of people like-," He stops to amend his statement. "Like us,"

“Like you, me and El?”

“The Hawkins unit wasn’t the first,” Billy says. “And, they definitely weren’t the first to fuck around with this stuff. Or, that place,”

Will nods thoughtfully as he takes in the words, his mouth narrowing into a white line.

"Months ago, I had this dream about Hawkins. About…the Upside Down-" Will stops abruptly, like he’s hesitant to go on. "I don’t know. It's…probably nothing," He adds, in an almost inaudible mumble.

"Spit it out," Billy hears himself say, sharply.

Will's head shoots up, a little startled.

Billy winces at his own tone – the way it sounds in his own ears. He reigns it in and tries again.

"I'm not gonna think you're crazy, alright?" He says, before he gestures to himself. "Dead man walking here,"

That, at least, earns him a small, nervous laugh - like he isn't sure if Billy is giving him permission to laugh at his fucked-up state.

He is.

Will softens a little, relaxes by his side. "I saw Hawkins. In my dream," He begins, eyes focused and brows furrowing like he's trying to picture it. "But, it was...all wrong,"

Billy frowns, prompts him to continue. "Wrong?"

"It looked like the Upside-Down. But, I knew it wasn't," Will lifts his eyes, confused and searching. "It was right _here_. Right where we are now,"

Billy feels a chill crawl up his spine, cold and icy. Damn, he wishes he had a cigarette. It would calm him down. He doesn't know what to do with his hands now - they shake at his sides.

"Do you...think it means anything?" Will asks, his gaze warm on the side of Billy's face.

Billy doesn't have _all_ the answers - but he knows enough to know that a dream like that isn't good news. He feels the strangest urge to laugh, wills away the bubbling nerves in his stomach.

"Since we're being so damn honest," Billy tongue flicks out nervously to wet his dry lips. "Yeah. I do,"

Will's face falls. He looks hopeless, eyes lost at a spot on the floor. There's the same look on his face. The one that Billy can only describe as haunted.

When Billy reaches out his hand, it is a little clumsy and stunted. It hovers over Will's shoulder for a second. He places it down and lets it sit there for a short beat.

"Doesn't mean we can't change things,"

When Will turns, Billy holds his eyes, waits for his affirmative.

"Yeah," He says, nodding. "I hope so,"

Billy lets his hand fall and turns back to the lot. "For now - it's up to the girl to pull through. She's sure got a lot on resting on her shoulders,"

"She always did..." Will murmurs, fondly. “For a long time, I kept a lot of these thoughts...and nightmares to myself,” Will stops, lets out a sigh. “But, El was…the only one who _really_ understood. She was never scared...or freaked out. When she listened, she knew what it was like, you know?”

Billy does. Their experiences are as weird as they come. Few people to confide in and even fewer who could actually relate. Will kept quiet about El, but Billy could tell he was worried.

He’d kept busy when they were in Hopper’s cabin, trying to sort through their food supplies. Anything he could to keep his mind off things. To distract himself from the nights they would hear Hopper would talk to El. They all heard him in the night. In a soft, low voice - willing her to wake up, telling her she _could_, that she was strong enough. A voice that soon turned weak and pleading.

"..Any luck?" Will pipes up suddenly by Billy's side but he's talking to someone else. Billy turns to find Steve, exiting through the glass doors.

"I'm sorry," Steve says, like he's let him down. He digs into his pocket and pulls out a handful of coins, passing them over to Will. "I mean, I’m sure they're fine. Hop says they’re on their-"

"I'll try the house again," Will takes the change from Steve's palm and powers past him. He’s gone in a flash, heading back inside.

Steve turns his head back in Billy's direction, smiling when their eyes meet. Billy watches him move closer, leaning forward on the railing by his side. Billy leans into it when Steve moves until they're shoulder-to-shoulder.

From the corner of his eye, he notices Steve turn, gaze warm and insistent on the side of his face.

"How's the leg?"

"Still there," Billy says. He turns to finally look at him in the eyes. Then, lowers them to Steve's throat: to the bruising around his neck.

"What about you?" He asks, lingering on the shadows on his skin. "You're not lookin' so hot yourself,"

"Oh, yeah. That," Steve turns his neck, rolls his shoulders a little. "He got me good,"

When Billy reaches out, Steve lifts his eyes carefully - they're a warm, amber color under the entrance-light.

Billy pulls down the neck of Steve's sweater a little to inspect the damage. The bruises form blue and grey around his throat, a little redder around his Adam's apple. Billy flushes hot with residual anger.

"It's fine," Steve's voice is a little breathy when he speaks. He readjusts his collar in place, knocking Billy's hand in the movement. "It sure as Hell could've been worse,"

Billy backs off. He doesn't say anything as he turns back to the parking-lot. Downs the last of the coffee Will bought him, wincing at the bitterness at the bottom. 

"Man," Steve sighs in relief. "How good does a night’s sleep in an _actual _bed sound?"

_That an offer?_ Billy bites his tongue and says nothing. Now, it feels like crossing a very etched line - one that didn't exist before he overheard that phone call. Before he had some understanding of the big picture of Steve's life. Of the world he's in now, where everyone elses lives have gone on whilst his remained stagnant.

Steve probably regrets what happened - probably wants to forget about it.

A weighted silence stretches out between them. That is, until Steve pulls a bag of spicy chips and a soda from the plastic bag in his hand. He pulls the trigger of the can with a snap and the froth bubbles onto the rim and onto his fingers.

"Dinner and dessert," He sighs, sipping the froth around the edge.

Billy scoffs, smiling. “You got smokes in there?” He peers over.

"Way ahead of you," Steve pulls out something that is definitely _not_ cigarettes - a red lollipop.

"The fuck is this?" Billy grumbles.

"You can't smoke out here,” Steve tells him simply. “But, I figured this might help with cravings. It'll give your mouth something else to focus on,"

Billy snorts, raises his eyebrows. "That right?"

"You know what I mean," Steve hides a small small smirk before he passes it over to him.

The saccharine, flavor sings on his taste-buds as it sits on his tongue. Billy rolls it around from cheeks to cheek, layering his tongue in thin a coating of sour cherry.

There's a rising commotion from the parking-lot that disturbs them both - as a large, loud group of people march up the street. Weaving around the parked cars as they bicker. A tall, thin man with dark, curls leads at the front. He's animated as he walks and yells loudly at the others.

A replying voice on the air makes Billy go suddenly still. He finds himself straining for it on the air, seeking the familiar cadence and tone.

Then, the group is at the foot of the ramp - three men and one woman blocking the path. The young woman pushes through the rest.

The overhead light casting a white, light onto long, red hair. Messy and frayed and jeweled with tiny beads of rain. The steps of her old, worn sneakers halt in place as she takes in the sight of him.

"...Max," Billy lets out a sigh of breath.

She takes a step closer up the ramp, hand braced on the rail. Until, she's right in front of him, blue eyes puffy and lined with red.

Billy is frozen to the spot. He's not sure what to say. Or, where to start.

Max's mouth curls upwards, almost bitterly as she glares up at him. For a moment, he thinks she might scream. Her chin wobbles, eyes welling up and over with tears. When she moves, it's quick.

She bows her head, hands coming up to hide her face before she falls into his chest.

She hides there - and lets out a sob. It travels through him in a tremor, hollows out his chest with an ache. He feels his breath catch. The hollow ache fills his throat. Billy's hands go carefully to her shoulders. He bows his head, and pulls her in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be Steve's P.O.V. again. And, things should slow down a bit for a chapter. There will be some further exploration of Billy's experience as a experimentation subject, but I think it'll be a flashback chapter. Again, I'm sorry for the delayed update, guys. I aim to finish much more over the holidays.


	7. Chapter 7

For two weeks after the events in Hawkins, Steve was distant at work. Gaze and thoughts lost in the glare of his computer screen.

Every few hours, Robin had swept by to drop a coffee or pastry on his desk. He'd settled for the coffee: reliant on it to keep him steady and level.

Three casualties were reported from in Hawkins. The large sinkhole a result of "_a small quake in the area that had exacerbated existing structural instability_".

According to the papers, at least.

It's a story that Steve's not sure how they can spin when he recalls the damage: the earth itself rotten and _wrong_.

Their families had been notified of the tragic, "accidental" deaths. Knowing the truth, Steve can't help but wonder what really got them. The damage from the Earth? Or, worse - the creatures crawling out from beneath.

The instability had spread from Merrill’s Farm all the way to the local water-tower. Dustin had driven by the edges of town, where the houses bordering the edges had been temporarily evacuated. Steve's old cul-de-sac had remained untouched. Not that Steve had worried about the old house - his parents were long gone.

As for El, there was little change.

She’d remained in a stable yet unfamiliar state. One that Billy had explained as meditative - she was still fighting from within: her life hanging in the balance. The least they could be thankful for was that there was no decline in her condition.

Those days in Hawkins weighed heavy on his thoughts - in more ways than one. 

He'd thought about Billy more than he could justify. More than what felt right thinking about, when their circumstances were so dire.

Regardless, his mind often wandered. At night, he'd been haunted by the memory: from the heat in his eyes to the way he'd touched him.

The guilt ate at him; even after his girlfriend left. The little note on the fridge is the only thing she left behind – by the small photograph they’d both taken on their trip to Chicago.

Every morning, light spilled onto it from the half-drawn curtains in his apartment.

_I've gone to my parents. Don't bother calling. _

_I've taken Wookie with me. _

\- Anna

On the way back home from Hawkins to normality, he'd stopped over at a truck stop to change from blood-soaked clothes.

He'd checked his reflection in a grimy, dim-lit mirror. Tried to force a smile at the worn, tired man in the mirror. In the looking glass, he was met with bruises and wear in his eyes - guilt sitting heavy in his throat.

He knew he could no longer lie to Anna with a straight face. This would be it, for them.

Like with the others before, he’d kept parts of himself locked away. Some, out of fear. Others, out of shame.

He'd always thought he'd take the truth about Hawkins to his grave. It would remain buried in those hazy teenage years. And, he would have to keep it there, safe and enclosed.

Yet, there were always more secrets to swallow down like a dry pill. Inevitably, escaping out from within in the night - when he couldn't hold back the tide.

Steve follows the hall down to El's room in the ICU. He's barely reached the handle before he hears the cadence of a familiar voice.

"I've told you, I can't reach her. I can't..._do _what she could," He hears Billy first, voice tight with irritation.

"_Try_," Hopper responds.

"The girl is too deep for me to follow. I don't know how_,"_

Hopper is silent for a beat before he answers, low and warning. "The _girl_ has a name,”

"Will you two knock it off? _Please_," Between the two of their arguing, Joyce's voice is a relief. A balm between their two angry, warring tones.

"...sorry," Steve hears Billy grumble first.

"Yeah, sorry," Hopper adds.

That's when the door swings open wide.

Steve's breath catches when he finds himself face to face with Billy.

Billy looks healthier than when he last saw him. Skin flush with a warm color, eyes clear and light. He's broader, like he’d put on some weight. Wrapped in an dull-grey and incongruous drawstring hoodie and sweatpants.

"Hey," Steve blurts out.

A white smile brightens Billy's face. "Nice glasses, Harrington,"

Is all he says - teasing. Steve isn't sure if he's making fun of him, or not. It's the kind of thing he'd hear him say years ago in a locker room with derision. Yet, judging by the way his eyes soak him in, dragging down to his shirt and tie...

Steve feels the strange urge to adjust it.

“Steve,” Joyce appears at Billy's side, smiling warm when their eyes meet. "It's good to see you,"

Billy clears the way as Steve passes by to greet her.

The length of El's hair is brushed back over her scalp, framing her small narrow face. Around her bedside is a gathering of flowers, cards and balloons.

Steve puts his flowers with the others. Notices the pile of cassettes resting by an old mint-green tape player. One of the empty ones mix-tapes left loose on the side: with El's name written in Mike's handwriting.

"Where is Mike?" Steve asks.

Joyce looks a little apprehensive. "Will convinced him to get some air," She turns her head to the sleeper sofa by El's right side, strewn with blankets. "He barely leaves her side,"

"Hold it," Hopper's voice interrupts their conversation. When Steve turns, he sees that Hopper has clasped hold of Billy's shoulder, stopping him in place.

"What _now, _asshole?" Billy swings his arm, knocking Jim's hand off.

"You _know_ what," Hopper replies, barbed.

Billy glares, jaw tense.

With a tense stare, he makes his way back to the chair facing by El's bedside. Billy takes the seat. Hopper follows, stops to stand over Billy's shoulder.

Billy shoots him an irritated glare. "I need space, old-timer,"

Hopper huffs like he's holding back a retort. Grumbling, he complies. Then, moves stands at the foot of her bed. He crosses his arms as he watches carefully.

Billy peels back the covers from El's upturned hand, turns it upright and cups it in his larger ones.

Steve watches on curiously.

Then, he hears that familiar sound again. The same sound he'd heard at the hotel - when the bottle had smashed.

It's a jarring note that makes his jaw tight. A hum in the air that he feels in his teeth. The sound continues for a solid minute: grating and unpleasant.

The side of Billy's temple pulses with a vein. He flinches. Hard. From his nose, blood drips with a sudden quickness.

It runs freely past his lips. Passes down the skin of his throat, blooming on the collar of his grey hoodie. He flinches again, his grip going tighter around El's.

There's a groan from the window. When Steve turns, he sees a small crack: splintering the glass like thawing ice.

He turns back to Joyce near the window, heart picking up in panic.

Thankfully, Joyce moves. Away from the window and towards Billy.

She grasps a tissue and holds it under Billy’s chin. When the tissue darkens blooms red, she turns over her shoulder to Hopper.

"...Jim," She says, voice imploring.

Hopper’s mouth purses beneath his beard, resistant. Yet, he walks towards Billy with purpose. Finally, he places a hand on Billy's shoulder. "...That's enough," He says low.

The unpleasant sound fades like a sigh.

The pressure lifts off the air. It's a relief: like the world has righted itself again.

Billy stirs slow and grudgingly. He lifts his weary eyes to Hopper's face, tired and bloodshot.

Hopper turns away from Billy's face when he speaks. "You can go," He says, rubbing at the back of his neck.

The two of them switch places and Hopper returns to his seat by El's left side. He takes hold of her hand, searching her sleeping face.

The tinny sound of the radio echoes around the garishly lit hospital cafe. Behind the desk, there's a sharp frothing hiss that makes Steve flinch on instinct. He relaxes when he notices the cloud of steam billowing out from the milk-steamer on the coffee-machine, manned by a exhausted looking employee.

"...Something wrong?" Billy asks, frowning with concern. 

Steve shakes it off. Clears his throat. "Where's Max?"

"She'll be here," Billy replies. “She’s at…work,” He adds, like he finds that a little strange.

Steve can see why. The last time they'd seen each other, she'd been just a kid. Singing in her hair-brush and skating down the driveway.

"You guys must've had a talk to talk about,"

"She sure had a lot of questions," Billy explains through a mouthful of lettuce. "Talks my ear off," He scoffs – a little amused. From the sound of it, he likes that fact.

Steve empties another sugar packet into his black, murky coffee for an extra buzz. "...And, you and Hop," Steve pauses, waits for him to finish his thought.

"The guy is driving me crazy," Is Billy's answer. "This whole place is nuts,"

Steve shoots him a lingering look of disbelief. "It can't be as bad as-," Steve stops. Hesitates, for a moment.

Billy's eyes are on him: he knows what he was about to say. "No," He agrees with the sentiment. "But, security is tight for a hospital. They were quick in stopping other attempts made on her life,"

Steve's hand stills on his coffee mug. He goes ice-cold. "There were more...?"

"..._Were_," Billy shrugs. "Trying to clean up this mess, I guess," He's quiet when he speaks, voice weary. "Neutralizing the threat before it gets any worse," He stabs into another unnaturally green salad leaf.

The words are oddly rehearsed and impersonal to be Billy's.

_Disposables, _Billy had said to him. Steve hadn't forgotten that word: what it was in reference to. That's what they had called the others under experimentation with him. That was how they saw people.

"El still has a chance," Steve says, assuredly. She had to pull through. If anyone could, El could. "She can still beat this thing,"

Billy levels him with an almost impatient look. "It's coveted her powers for years," He starts. "It can't reach its goal without her. It's not going to just...up and leave without a fight,"

"Then, we'll give it one," Steve says.

Billy seems surprised by the answer. A small laugh escapes him.

"What?" Steve asks.

"Nothin'," Billy presses his lips together when he tilts back on the legs of his chair. Watches Steve with an odd fondness.

The expression is gone as soon as it comes - falling from his features as a dark cloud passes over him. "...Kid's lucky,"

Steve's about to ask what he means, when Billy stands up. The legs of his chair screeching loudly as he pushes it back. 

While he's in line for the cashier, Steve's eyes fall back to the electronic ankle bracelet: he's not sure when that happened. A pit forms in his stomach the longer he looks at it.

Steve doesn’t regret convincing Billy to stay and help them. To help Eleven. Without him, Steve’s not sure they would have found her. He's not sure he would've made it out alive.

And, yet, he also feels a pang of guilt seeing him him like this. _From one cell to another._

When Billy rejoins him at the table, burdened with another full food-tray, Steve can't help but ask about it. "…Was the bracelet Hop's idea?"

"No," Billy tells him. "One of his suit...friends," He adds, disdainful. "The Chief wants me to stick around while the investigation is ongoing. That, and, he thinks...I can do more to help the girl,"

"…Can you?"

"Guess I'll have to keep trying if I _ever_ want out of Hawkins," Billy snaps, a little hastily. His eyes fall to his tray, jaw flexing beneath his skin like he's holding back more.

"What?" Steve presses softly.

"I don't trust any of these people, Steve. And the feeling's mutual," Billy tells him, agitated. "It's only a matter of time before they…" He lowers his head. Eyes downcast when he mumbles even lower. "Before they throw me back somewhere else to rot,"

"That's _not_ going to happen," Steve says firmly.

Billy lifts his head accusingly. "And, what makes you _so_ sure of that?"

"Hop wouldn't _let _something like that happen,"

Billy eyes go icy and dull, at that. It's clear he doesn't believe him. Doesn't trust the words made on the behalf of Hopper.

Steve can vouch for himself, though.

"Then, _I _won't," He amends, making sure to hold his gaze: he wants him to know he's telling him the truth. "I won't let that happen to you,"

After the words slip from his lips, a silence passes between them. It's almost like he's confessed something intimate.

Steve feels his cheeks flush, similarly flustered. He clears his throat and lowers his head. Starts to stirs the mixture at the bottom of his coffee, dark and separated like silt.

The clutter and murmur of voices surround them for a minute.

Billy is the first to break the silence.

"So." He says, a little glibly. "How's life _outside _of this crumbling shit-hole?"

Steve can't help but laugh, a little grimly.

He thinks about summarizing the last two weeks. The sleepless nights. The fake smiles. Waking every morning, pretending everything was fine as he went about his day - as if nothing had happened at all.

Steve finds Billy's face when the words slip out.

"Well," He shrugs. "My girlfriend left me," It's the first time he's said them to anyone - other than Robin.

Billy stills at his reply. "Why?"

Steve sighs, brushing a hand back through his hair. "I guess, I couldn't keep up with the lies anymore,"

Billy's eyes narrow. "...Lies about what?

"The thought of dragging someone else into all this has never sat right with me," Steve starts. "Even if I'd _wanted_ to risk everything by telling her the truth about Hawkins...It's not like I could do that without sounding crazy,"

He’d always had the kids to talk to. Dustin, mainly. Over the years, it had come up in conversation. But, it was hard to be truly open: even with him.

For the kids, he’d wanted to be strong. To be the person they could rely on.

He doesn’t feel the need to do that with Billy. To protect him from harsh truths: or to lie about the reality.

There's also nothing to lose in telling Billy - someone so far removed from the normal and the mundane of his everyday life.

“When's the last time you got shut-eye, Harrington?" Billy asks. "Or, ate...for that matter?”

Steve knows it's starting to show; the waistband of his pants had grown a little roomier in the last week. Although, he doesn’t answer. Instead, he pulls off his glasses with a sigh, rubbing over his dry eyes.

Billy starts to arranges a haphazard mess of the food he'd grabbed on his tray, halving the wrapped Club sandwich and splitting the apple on his knee.

He pushes the tray toward him and jerks his head, in wait.

Steve scoffs before he reaches for the sandwich and takes a demonstrative, large bite out of the side of his half.

It's easier once he's gotten the first bite - with Billy prompting him. He feels a little better, too.

He guesses he needed it.

Steve almost jumps when Max appears. Taking a seat by Billy's side on the chair.

The length of her side-braid is a little frayed and windswept: she's still wearing her work uniform: a little blue name-badge sit by her collar.

"Here," She says. "I brought what you kept asking for," She digs into her over the shoulder bag, covered in colorful badges: symbols and band-names. Pulls out magazines, a few books, CDs and a CD player.

"...The Hell is all this?" Billy asks, one cheek full of club sandwich.

"You asked for stuff to keep you busy," She says. "So, I brought some stuff from home,"

Billy begins uncurling the long wire from the CD player. He flinches when she presses the play button. A splitting guitar riff sounding through headphones. Billy leans forward, seemingly occupied.

That's when Max turns to Steve: brows furrowing curiously.

"...Steve," Her light eyes flick briefly back from him to Billy, confused. "What are you doing here?"

It's a pretty reasonable question. He knows the whole thing looks strange. For him to be sitting and eating with Billy - of all people.

The last thing he'd said about him to Max wasn't exactly high-praise.

It was weird for all of them: Dustin had brought Billy up over the phone and he'd found himself getting defensive. The talk of "Max's psycho brother" wasn't something he could sit through comfortably anymore.

Billy answers before he can. Tugs down the headphones to shoot him a smirk.

"He missed me," He grins sharply. "Didn't you, Stevie?"

Max snorts, like he's making a joke. "_Right_. Sure,"

"Did you have to pick their shittiest album, Max?" Billy grumbles, turning the CD case to read the back.

Max snatches it defensively. "If you'd came by the house, like I suggested, then, maybe you could pick your own-,"

"No," Billy sighs, like they've had this conversation before.

Max frowns. "For one or two hours-"

"I said, no, Max," Billy says, a little harsher.

An icy silence spreads between them. Max starts packing the other things away: the little frown creasing between her brows. Billy is just all-frown. Scowling into his glass like he has a personal vendetta against orange juice.

"Might be your chance to get some space away from Jim," Steve suggests lightly.

The two of them lift their heads at the same time: their expressions night and day.

"I mean, at least he knows where you are," Steve trails off "And...who you're with,"

Steve catches Billy's wide eyes in his periphery: shooting daggers at the side of his face.

Max sits up a little straighter. "I'll talk to him," Then, she's gone before Billy can chase her: opening his mouth briefly he closes it shut.

Billy turns to Steve, letting out a tight sigh.

"What?" Steve says. "You said you were going crazy trapped here,"

Billy doesn't argue the point. But, still looks a little bitter when mumbles, low and irritated. "...Got no clue why they're still living in that shit-hole,"

"You don't _have_ to go, if you-"

"She won't drop it," Billy says.

Steve mulls over his words. “It’s a few hours,” He tells him, trying to ease the pressure.

Billy doesn't look any more enthralled. "...A few hours,"

Steve watches Billy's sullen profile for a moment. He remembers something he'd bought on the way over. He'd thought about when he'd seen it: trapped in the glass jar on the cashier desk. He digs in his pocket and pulls out a cola flavored lollipop.

A resistant smirk works its way across Billy's face. "Real cute," He says, begrudgingly.

Yet, he still takes it from his fingers. Rips off the clear plastic with unceremonious pull.

Steve smiles. Eyes drawn briefly to the flash of his tongue, gliding over it languidly.

He averts his gaze. Brings his eyes low in last murky remnants of his coffee in the bottom of his cup, thumb scratching at the handle.

"You know, I could go with," Steve hears himself say. "Hop trusts me to bring you back. And, to not let you run off,"

Billy moves the candy from one cheek to the other and leans forward on the table, voice low and challenging. "You gonna try and stop me?"

Steve plays along – lets out a small laugh. "I'd give good chase,"

A smile lights Billy's face when he looks him over, brows raising. "I'll bet,"

Any chance of a cool, collected reply feels lost. In the moment, Steve lets his eyes fall, lets his thoughts wander where they may.

He almost forgets where they are: in a clinical, garish hospital cafeteria. Until, there's another whistling hiss from the milk-handle on the coffee machine. The jarring over-head flicker from the florescent, hospital lighting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoping to expand on Steve's history in the next chapter. As well as some Max/Lucas bits here and there. 
> 
> The next chapter is almost done and is similarly paced to this one. 
> 
> Thank you for your comments, guys.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is doing okay during this extremely strange and stressful time. It's been a weird start to 2020. Wash your hands and stay safe, guys.

The house isn't what Steve expects. They walk into the brightly lit-living room: the sheer curtains drawn open wide on the windows and tucked neatly behind potted ferns.

A dark red beanbag slumps beside a bookcase stuffed full of magazines, health books and comics. The rest of the books pile up the door, dog-eared and tucked away messily.

The credits for a re-run _Dynasty _flash on the T.V. screen and an empty cup sits on the coffee table. The red cushions and patch-work throw are messy on the couch like someone had been sitting there recently.

"Mom!" Max's voice echoes around the house. "We're here,"

There's a small rustling sound from the other room. "Be right there, Max," A voice replies.

A door opens.

A small black and white animal powers down the hall, claws clacking on the wood. The dog runs at them with full speed, yipping at Billy and Steve’s feet.

"Edgar-" Max snips before she picks him up.

Steve smiles and leans forward. “Hey, bud,” He smiles, rubbing at the mess of white fluff a top it's head that half covers his eyes. "What is he?"

"We got him from the shelter," Max says, struggling to hold him still. "But, we _think _he's a westie-shitzu cross?"

"...Or, an over-sized rat," Billy comments.

Max frowns and holds the wriggling dog closer to her chest.

"You couldn't get a _real _dog to guard the house?" He chastises.

“Aw, he’s a real dog,” Steve coos when the dog licks at his palm. “I think he’s the best,”

“We don't _need_ a guard-dog," Max argues, a little surprised by Billy's assertion. She puts him down and he marches off, feet pattering on the floor.

Billy grows quiet as they walk into the hall. He takes in every inch of the house, shoulders tense and eyes wide. Steve gives him some space when he notices him wander into his bed-room.

In the meantime, Max offers him some tea. He gets a little lost when she lists off an array of: honey lemon, cherry berry, candy apple, cinnamon punch.

In the end, he points to a flashy color: ginseng and lemon green tea. A bad choice, as it turns out. Steve winces through every slurp but nevertheless drains it all.

While rinsing out his cup, he notices a familiar red, racing jacket draped over a chair at the dining table.

"Is he around...?" 

Max lifts her head, curiously. "Who?"

Steve tries to hide the small smile tugging at his lips. "Lucas,"

Max's head jerks to shoot him a pointed glare.

"What?" Steve laughs uneasily. "I'm just asking,"

"...I _know_ what you're asking," She retrieves it; brushing her hand over it tenderly when she folds it over her arm. "He...left it here. By mistake,"

"Is…he coming back?" 

At the question, her head shoots up. She bristles as she hands it over. "You'll probably see him before I do,"

With that, she turns on her heels. Steve looks at the jacket bestowed upon him, a little confused. 

He'd heard _many_ details from Dustin over the years about The Breakup. Over the years, Lucas barely step foot in Hawkins - which meant the two hadn't really talked. Until, recently.

Steve can't help but wonder if Lucas left it on purpose: an excuse to come back. He's_ not_ about to get in the way of that. So, he hangs it on the rack in the hall.

There's no answer when Steve knocks on Billy's bedroom door. So, he pushes the door open and peers into shadow.

It's a dimly lit room when compared to the rest of the house. The curtain is recently half-drawn, gold particles of dust spinning through the sun-lit air. Light catches on Billy's shoulder-blades as he turns in his jeans.

"Shit, uh-" Steve stops short. "Sorry,"

Billy scoffs and fastens his belt. "Nothing you haven't seen before," 

Steve's eyes linger before he turns to the small box he'd packed on his bed. From the top, he can see a few of pairs jeans, his brown, leather jacket and a small crate of cassette tapes.

Steve snoops around the rest of the room. He moves past the color-faded, worn band posters and towards his old mirror. Stops by the small cologne vial resting on the counter. Opens it with a and brings it to his face: notes of wood, musk and amber flooding his nose.

When he turns, he finds Billy watching him as he adjusts the bottom of his white shirt into his jeans.

"Has your room always looked like this?"

"Seems like the only room left the way it was," Billy shrugs.

_No kidding_, Steve thought. The room was like a time-capsule. Down to the posters and pictures on the wall. He can't help but wonder if she'd left it because she didn't want to touch it - or because she's held out some hope he might come back. If he had to guess, he'd pick the latter.

"Why'd you ask?"

Steve puts his hands on his hips as he looks from wall to ceiling. "Guess it's just...not what I expected from teenage-you,"

Billy snorts. "What did you think it would look like?"

"Oh, y'know. Hanging chains and pentagrams. Posters of girls in leather with huge tits and whips-,"

Billy's laugh lights up his face in an _almost_ endearing way. "...Sounds like you spent a lot of time thinking about my room," He says, pulling his arms through the sleeves of his denim, jacket.

Steve _had _wondered a lot of things - even back then. It was hard not to wonder. Not when the guy demanded everyone's attention. He'd wondered what his deal was - what could've made him this way.

_Were you dropped on your head as a child, or what? _

He'd known there was _something _in the way he looked at him. Noticed the way his eyes would linger - always a little too long. The night they'd fought, he'd brought Billy's attention to it irritably. _Yeah, it's me. Don't cream your pants. _

He hadn't expected thoughts of Billy to bother him: to linger, after the fact. _It's hate_, he'd told himself once. That was why he couldn't get them out of his head. It's why he couldn't shake the thought of him. On quiet, nights when his hand would wander and his mind would spin with images that filled him with shame.

Steve crosses his arms over his chest. "More like, I used to wonder what cave you crawled out every morning,"

Billy grins, tucking his thumb tucked under his belt. "Gotta be a big downgrade from Harrington-Manor,”

Steve rolls his eyes. "Right,"

"Must be hard," Billy says low, gaze falling. "Being a rich, pretty-boy,"

Steve just sighs as he leans back against the wall. "Well...Times change,"

Billy smiles as he moves closer. "You still look good to me,"

It...wasn't what he meant. He’d meant the rich thing. Life had changed overnight when he and his parents severed ties - when he'd had to start his life all over again.

Yet, Steve finds it hard to speak - let alone correct him - when Billy advances. He feels his breath thin and he adjusts his back against the wall to stand up straight. To be on Billy's level. He wets his lips, falling to Billy's as he moves closer.

That's when the door flies open.

Edgar marches in with a brazen vigor, his face glued to the carpet like he's searching for something in the fibers.

"I _told_ you you can't go in there," Max says.

The two of them split apart, just as Max runs in and hauls up the little wriggling dog into her arms.

For all his talk, Billy warms up to the little guy. He gets thoroughly invested in tug-of-war, growling as he pulls the little dog across the carpet.

Steve joins in. It runs to and fro between them as they throw it to each other from opposite ends of the hall.

The game is cut short when Susan emerges from her room to join them. She's a little pale and thinner than Steve remembers, her red hair cropped short and lined with a few strands of white.

Steve..._tries _not to react to the difference in Susan's speech while they sit at the table to eat. He's always known the effort Max had taken in taking care of her. But, hearing about it and _seeing_ it in person were two very different things.

It's only when they _really_ start talking, that it becomes clear. She stumbles over her words, brow creasing with frustration when they slip from her grasp.

Max goes on like nothing is wrong. So, Steve tries to do the same - as best as he can.

Billy barely talks throughout the meal. He keeps his head low as he drains a glass of water. He barely moves until Susan accidentally tips over her the water-jug.

"Oh-," She gasps. "I'm so sorry," The spilled jug of water spreads across the wood. Taps in quick drops onto the carpet.

"I'll get some more napkins," Max turns and heads for the kitchen.

Billy sits up suddenly. He hands her his from the other side of the table.

"...Susan,"

The sound of his voice makes her flinch. She stops in her tracks and holds his gaze. Steve notices her eyes start to well up, shining in the light.

When she doesn't move, Billy stands up, instead. He sighs and moves closer to mop it up himself. That's when she abruptly takes hold of his hand.

She leans in close. And, whispers something to him.

Steve doesn't catch the words: they're far too quiet. Yet, when Billy finally pulls away, his eyes are wide and his face a little pale.

“Found some,” Max returns.

Susan releases Billy's hand. "Thank you, Max," 

She shares a brief, penitent look with Billy. Although, it's gone when she turns back to Max at her shoulder, pouring her another glass of water.

After lunch, Max helps her Mom back to the bedroom to get some rest with some tea Steve picked out. It was a better choice, this time. The black cherry wasn't so bad.

He hears the two of them talk in low, hushed tones and can't help but feel like he's intruding. So, he moves out of range.

Outside, Billy smokes in the yard.

Steve watches him through the window as he finishes his tea. The rain falling around in a light-mist as Billy paces the street.

When he re-enters, he looks a little surprised to see Steve waiting, arms folded across his chest, leaning by the door.

Rain-water drips from Billy's chin when he lifts an old, pack of Reds in his hand.

"Found it in my pocket,"

Steve takes it from him to inspect it: only one left remaining inside. He's surprised it hasn't withered like a raisin.

"Was it even worth it?"

Billy smacks his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "Didn't taste like a lollipop, that's for sure,"

He peels off his wet-jacket and lets it fall onto the floor behind him. He makes a beeline for a the small, study-room when something catches his eye. Steve follows and the door draws to a close behind them.

Billy walks slow alongside the photographs framed on the unit, passing by all of the smiling faces behind glass. All of the the years he'd missed before his eyes.

There's a picture of the Summer where they kids had camped at Clifty Falls State Park: Mike, Eleven, Lucas, Max, Dustin and Will - in their sophomore year.

Beside that, is a picture of the Christmas of 1990 - when they'd met up in Indianapolis. Steve was in that one. He was sat by Dustin, pulling down the yellow lip of his cap over his eyes and a beer out of arms reach.

Steve's eyes fall to a much smaller frame. The picture inside is crinkled and faded with sun-damage but the frame that houses it is new and shining.

It's Billy outside the Camaro, squinting at the photographer. It's just before they'd met - before he'd even come to Hawkins. Steve can't tear his eyes away from it: can't get over how young he looks. Tentatively, he sneaks a glance in Billy's direction.

Billy's holding Max's graduation in his hand. He tilts it in the light, smiling a little.

"...Least the little weirdo made it,"

Steve moves closer. He turns to watch the side of Billy's profile.

"Yeah. She worked hard for it,"

Billy sits the photograph back, eyes low. "And, was that before...Susan?" He trails off. Lifts his eyes in wait.

"No," Steve swallows. He remembered the day Lucas had called him from the hospital. "It...happened the beginning of her senior year."

Billy lets out a huff of air, disbelief. His gaze turns solemn when he moves. He turns and sits on the unit, perching on the edge.

He runs his hands one over his face, sighing. "I've...seen injuries like that before. At the facility,"

Steve raises his brows. "Like...Susan's?"

Billy just nods, gaze getting lost on a spot on the floor.

Steve isn't sure whether to ask more questions. Or, to wait for Billy to open up about it. He doesn't want to press on wounds that are too fresh and still aching. 

It was only when the years passed that Eleven shared more about the years in Hawkins Lab. Of a childhood she'd spent in closed, white rooms and hallways with no end. _The Rainbow Room. _Children who'd been there one day, gone the next.

"Never would've thought that would happen out here," Billy says, voice low. He lifts his hand to knead at the space between his brows. "I was just..._so_ wrapped up in what happened to me,"

"What happened to you wasn't right," Steve is quick to say.

At the words, Billy lifts his head with surprise.

"You defended yourself," Steve adds, a little softer. "That thing it....It wasn't your Dad,"

Billy goes still. He narrows his eyes and scoffs. "And, what if it was?"

That catches Steve off-guard: simply shrugging off a murder which everyone had waxed endlessly about for years.

"It's not like I hadn't thought about it before,"

Steve frowns. "About...killing him?" He presses lightly.

This time, Billy hesitates.

He holds Steve's gaze, rigid and still. "Can't say I _miss_ the guy," He says, shortly. "As bad as that might sound to you,"

Steve isn't sure what to say. The news reports had called Neil Hargrove a "hard-worker" , a "veteran", a "family man" who _leaves behind a loving wife and young, step daughter_." The nature of his death overshadowed a great deal about who he'd actually been as a man. Or, a father. Steve hadn't know much about him, at all.

"You know, I...used to sit up late with my Mom as a kid," Billy muses, voice low. "Used to...try and talk her down. Right after he'd-," He stops short, lips drawn tight to his teeth. There's a look of regret on his face: like he's said too much.

He picks up a new thought: amended and new. "I used to think about how much better off we'd be if he was just gone. Used to pray for something to happen to him,"

"For him to die?" Steve asks tentatively.

Billy mulls it over for moment. When he lifts his head, his gaze is dark. "Whatever it would take," 

The confession sits heavy in the air between them.

Steve is certain of one thing: the evil that lurked in Hawkins didn't dish out karmic punishment or grant prayers.

Billy had defended himself against the same monster they'd fought. Only, in the body of his father. Resentments, dark thoughts or a hurting child's wish didn't change that. There had been no rhyme or reason for Barb. Or, for Will. It didn't discriminate.

"You didn't ask for it to happen," Steve takes a tentative step closer. "None of us asked for any of this,"

Both of Billy's hands go tense at his sides. The little _019_ on his inner wrist is half-visible in the dim-light. If it were a normal crime, Billy would have served his sentence in a cell. A punishment, to be sure. But, not _this._

Steve wants to uncurl his fingers. To stop them biting bloody crescents into his palm.

"Can't go back," Billy starts, abrupt. "Can't change the past. No matter...how much you might want to," He speaks like he's trying to remind himself, over and over. A mantra of regret.

Steve reaches for Billy's arm, settling it light and soft. "But...you're here now," He tells him. "You have a chance. Here and now,"

Billy doesn't soften. But, his pupils flick to Steve's hand on his arm - noting his touch with mild curiosity.

"And, hey. You can make-up for that lost time,"

Steve wants to lift his spirits. But, he remembers only _one _place Billy had mentioned with fondness.

"What about that trip to California you talked about?" He reminds him with a small nudge. "I thought you said you'd show me around,”

That gets Billy to smile - albeit small. "Making up for lost time..." He muses, smile curving into a grin. "By...showing you a good time?"

Steve feels a flush rise to his cheeks. He rubs at the base of his neck. "I mean, it was your suggest-," The words voice trail off when Billy tugs on the end of his tie.

He grins when he draws him close. "I know," 

Steve falls deep into the snare. The air between grows increasingly warm as he moves closer, his breath growing shallow.

"I just didn't think you'd be game, Stevie," Billy says low, rough fingers curling around the tail end of his tie.

Steve wets his lips, eyes flicking from his gaze to his smiling mouth. He remembers the kiss they'd had in the forest: the one he hasn't stopped thinking about.

"...And, if I said I was?"

Billy doesn't close the gap between them, like usual. He doesn't give Steve the excuse to go where he leads. He moves slow and deliberative as he soaks him in. He follows to trail of his own hands from his tie to his waist, the heat of his hands sending a shiver down Steve's spine. Billy grips around his hips, squeezing light as he pulls him closer.

"I'd hold you to your word,"

This time, it's Steve that moves first. Billy hums softly against his lips when they meet. They're a little wet from the rain, a little cold. Still, Steve flushes warm at their touch. Billy tilts his head, tongue warm as he urges Steve's mouth open. Steve brings his arms up to wrap around Billy's shoulders with a sudden urgency. Billy pulls him close, breath quickening.

There's a sudden clatter that startles them both. A photo frame that's fallen face down onto the carpet.

When Steve turns, Billy's eyes are weighed down by a fan of dark lashes, still dropped to the fallen photograph.

Slowly, he lifts them: blue eyes clearing like ebbing tides. "..._Shit_," He wets his lips, squeezing Steve's hip. "...Can't do this here,"

"Yeah," Steve nods, blinking stars from his eyes. He runs his hands back through his hair to try and set it right: it probably looks like a mess, right now. Anna always used to laugh at him: say it looked like he'd stuck his finger in a light outlet.

Steve chews on his bottom lip. "Sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"Don't be sorry for that," Billy grins, adjusting Steve's glasses on his nose.

He tucks his shirt in and rearranges his hair in an attempt to look presentable. All the while, he waits for his heart to stop racing. He tries to make himself appear unchanged before they two of them head out into the hall.

They pack the trunk of Steve's car with the boxes from Billy's room. From the doorway, Max waves them off. The overhead light casting on her bright silhouette as she holds Edgar's small paw to wave.

The silence in the car feels weighted as Steve drives. The evening warm as the sun sets around them: the skies a color-spill of red and pink.

When they're out of the neighborhood, Steve notices Billy's hand wander. It's a small shadow that he's keenly aware of when it moves to his knee, squeezing.

Steve clears his throat. Sweat gathers on his hairline and his upper lip, salty and warm. The insulated, humidity inside the car makes his growing hard-on uncomfortable.

The touch is impossible to ignore when Billy's hand moves higher, squeezing the skin of his inner thigh.

Steve drives down an off-road, lane surrounded by tall trees. He stops right before he notices a yellow band of _Caution_ tape, blocking off the structural instability caused by the "quake".

Steve's seat-belt comes loose with a click. They crash against one another.

Billy smiles against his lips: he's a little too pleased and composed for Steve's liking. Still, it feels like a race to jostle his position and free himself. They're both a little clumsy and heavy-handed with the lack of room. He groans with relief when Billy's takes his dick in his hand.

Billy hums low when he moves in slow, lazy strokes. "You've been holding out,"

Steve laughs - short and stunted. "It's not like...you _haven't_ seen my dick before,"

Billy's cool blue eyes flicker, tense. "When?"

"The showers," Steve reminds him, cheeks flushing hot. "...After practice,"

Billy stops, voice a little warning. "You saying I looked?"

Steve resists the urge to laugh. "I _know_ you did," He chokes on a moan when Billy's thumb presses under the head of his cock, wet with pre-come.

"..._Real _full of yourself," Billy's grins, white teeth catching on his lip.

Steve lets his head fall back as Billy jerks him to full-hardness. He sucks at the skin below Steve's jaw, sending a chill down his spine. It'll leave a mark. But, Steve can't bring himself to worry about the fleeting thought when he feels this good.

"Thought about getting you alone. After practice. In the locker-rooms," Billy says against his skin, mouthing hot at his throat. "Getting you all worked up..." He laughs small and breathy by his ear. "Until you _begged_ me for it,"

"_Shit_-," Steve sighs as a shiver reverberates down his legs. He wriggles in his seat, legs kicking under the dashboard.

Billy's eyes find his, swollen black by pupils and heavy with dark lashes. He lowers his eyes to his dick, spits lewdly on the head before he strokes him slower.

"I wanna hear you beg now, Steve," He says with a grin, squeezing light.

Steve clings onto a shred of his pride as he shoots him a defiant look. Yet, it's _very_ fleeting when Billy's hand keeps moving, pressing his thumb under the sensitive head. Steve's toes curl and eyes fall heavy. He gives in.

"...._Please_," 

Billy grins. The plea is all he needs to lower his head. The heat of his tongue graces his skin and trails up his length. Dragging over the tip before it slips past soft lips and into heat.

Steve can't keep still. He grips the material of Billy's jean jacket in his fist when he starts to bob his head. Trails his hand up the nape of Billy's warm neck and higher, to run his short hair between his fingers.

Billy lets out a groan and sinks deeper. Lets it sit deep before he draws up, sucking taut and tight on the tip. Drawing out every dizzying spike of pleasure with a pace that makes his head spin. A flush sits high on his cheeks like a sun-burn, dark lashes slightly wet.

The sight is like a punch to the gut. Steve rocks his hips and gets lost to the building pleasure. It balls tight. The heat of Billy's hand moves across his thigh, bleeding through to his skin. Billy squeezes and strokes the tense muscle to keep him at a steady pace.

Steve flushes when he hears the rush of a passing car on the main-road. They're too far out to be seen or heard: but it's close _enough_. To remind him where they are - how little time they have.

Billy pulls off, seemingly taking note of his unease. The grip of his hand quickens from base to tip. He grins at him lewdly, lips flushed and swollen.

"You close?"

Steve's all tension as he quickens his strokes. He nods a little frantically in reply, eyes heavy behind the frames of his glasses.

"You gonna come for me?" Billy asks, smirking mouth resting above the tip. He takes him in his mouth again and Steve's hips give a kick to sink deeper.

It doesn't take him much to have him hurtling towards climax, curling from deep in his gut. He comes with a loud, shuddering groan, spasms and arches his hips. A flash of white heat flushes over his body as he grinds out every wave.

Billy keeps going until he's spent. Until, Steve softens in his mouth and winces with sensitivity.

Steve pulls Billy upright by the back of his collar. He kisses him a little roughly, pushing him back against the head-rest to keep him still. Like always, Billy fights to gain some foothold. He smiles against his lips in the struggle until, Steve lowers his hand to the crotch of his jeans.

Billy's mouth falls open with a startled moan that feels like a small victory.

"Good thing you packed so many identical pairs," Steve teases. "...Looks like you're gonna ruin these," 

Billy grunts, wetting his lips with an agitated flick of his tongue. "...Harrington," 

Steve thinks he could get used to seeing him this way, for once. The rush is a little dizzying.

"We're back to surnames?" He squeezes him again through before he eases off. "Think I prefer King Steve,"

Billy laughs, a little. He chases his touch with a frustrated cant of his hips, groaning low.

"I'll call you whatever you want," He says, gaze dark and beckoning. "Just keep goin',"

Steve kisses him again before he undoes the button on his jeans. It's then that a shrill, ring splits the air. Steve tenses at the sound: halting to a sudden stop.

It rings again.

_It's familiar_, he realizes. He knows the tune.

_Oh, that's right. _

Billy lets out a _pained_ groan against Steve's lips when the ring continues, and he pulls away.

"I swear, if that's-" Billy snaps, turning the bracelet still latched around his ankle.

"It's...not that," Steve digs in his pocket and pulls out his pager, turning it to read the message on the screen.

The little message makes his heart skip a beat.

"..It's El,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted some slower paced chapters to work through some stuff. But, things will pick up again pace-wise from here with the main plot Thank you for commenting/leaving kudos.


	9. Chapter 9

_She's awake._

The words filled him with a dread he couldn't shake - one that felt all-wrong under these circumstances. And, _now_ \- with Steve powering ahead of him down the garish hallway of the ICU, singular with focus.

"Steve," The break in Billy's voice betrays him.

It's enough to make Steve stop in his tracks. The giddy, excitement in his warm brown eyes fade as they settle on Billy's face.

"...What's wrong?"

Billy's gaze flicks from Steve's face to the window to their right. The inside of his mouth is bone dry when he replies.

"I'll wait out here,"

Steve moves to grasp Billy's hand. "You can come in with me," 

Billy pulls his hand free with a cagey quickness. "No. Steve. I can't," He tucks it into his jean pocket.

Steve stops. He searches his face now: brown eyes narrowing. Like he can tell what's on his mind if he looks deep enough. _Maybe he can_, a part of him thinks uneasily. Steve has always seen more than most: something that's always un-nerved him.

"You don't wanna overwhelm her," Billy explains. "Especially not with...some stranger,"

Steve pouts. "...I guess not,"

He takes a step forward, hooking his finger on Billy's belt. Billy's a little surprised by the action. They're in public, after all. However, the initial flightiness is washed away when Steve pulls him close.

"Don't go anywhere," Steve says low, holding his eyes like a promise.

Billy leans in to kiss him. He treats it like the last time: it feels like it could be. He pushes the thought down deep. Tries to ignore the feeling burgeoning in his chest when Steve's hand moves to cups his cheek. Like he's important: like he matters.

By the time they part, Steve is smiling again.

"No running off," He says, breath warm against his lips.

Billy grins. He reaches to brush the hair away from Steve’s brow. Rests his hand light on the warmth of his cheek. "Wouldn't dream of it, pretty boy,"

Steve leaves his side and opens the door to El's room.

The sound escapes from the gap: overjoyed voices, jagged with tears and laughter.

_Relief._

Billy cranes his head forward to peer briefly through the window. Hopper's eyes glassy when he squeezes the girl's hand. Dustin, Mike and Lucas share a joke by her bedside. Mrs Byers sits on a chair by Hopper's side, eyes brimming as she looks between father and daughter.

Yet, the girl is not smiling.

She sits upright in bed, hair pulled back from her face: now somewhat hawkish with how much weight she's lost. A pit forms in his gut when he searches her face: scouring over every feature.

There's an eerie listlessness in her expression at the scene around her. Then, those empty eyes find him through the glass. In her gaze, he expects to find horror at the sight of him. Betrayal. Hurt.

They take hold of him and he flushes _ice_ cold.

He tears himself free and slips from its grasp. Shudders as he turns down the hallway, rubbing at the tender skin of his throat.

He starts when he finds himself face-to-face with Will.

"_Jesuz-_," Billy curses. "Damn it, kid. Don't-"

"You felt it too, right?" 

Billy stills at the question. The reaction is likely the only answer he needs.

"It's not El," He says.

Billy can't still feel the icy, phantom grip around his throat. Remembers the dull, hollow look in her eyes. "I know,” 

"They need to know," Will says. "We need to get everyone together. Tell them all at once,"

Upon Will's request, they congregate in a dimly-lit corner of the empty cafeteria: huddled around two tables.

The tang of brewed coffee lingers in air around them: a collection of disposable cups gather on the table surface as they wait for the last people to arrive.

Nancy and Johnathan arrive together. Wheeler is as dainty and prim-looking as he remembered: head high and gaze resolute as she walks towards them. Steve stands to greet her with a warm yet guarded smile.

Johnathan weaves through the tables as a short-cut to his family. He reaches out a tentative hand to his Mom's shoulder and she turns and embraces him tightly. Billy averts his gaze.

When Will gives them the bad news, he turns to Mike first with a prepared, tentative glance.

Mike looks at every face in attendance - like he's hoping _someone_ can tell him something different. When they have nothing, he lets out a weak sigh: a hopeless sound.

"No, you're wrong," He says, agitated. "She's-"

"You _know_ I wouldn't lie about this,"

"So, what are you saying?" Mike asks frantically. "That she's _gone_?-"

"I'm saying, she can't fight this alone," Will says. "You guys helped me find a way, remember?" He reminds him as he steps closer. He's seemingly the only person who softens the grief and sharp tension in Mike's every move.

"She_ needs_ us, Mike,"

At that, Mike nods: his throat working to swallow. The tears are hard to watch as Will comforts him.

"It'll need her body to recover if it wants to use her powers," Will tells them. "So, we have some time,"

"For now. We'll let it think we buy the act," Lucas asserts. "It can't do any damage for the time being, right?"

"Maybe, _it _can't," Nancy scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest.

"The Demodogs we fought came from the tunnels at Merill's Farm," Steve muses. 

"Those tunnels _are _connected to the other side," Dustin adds. "To the gate at Hawkins Lab,"

"I stopped there before I found these three at the cabin," Hopper reminds them, gesturing to Will, Steve and Billy. "There's no change at the Lab. The gate's still sealed behind concrete,"

It was the one gate Billy had actually _seen._ In nightmares, that is. He'd woke with rage at a memory that wasn't his own. _It's_ rage, at the sight of 011.

"Well, there's gotta be another,"

Dustin's words carry Billy away from the moment around him. To the last night he'd spent at the facility. He remembers a girl's scream - a scream so loud it was like the earth had split open.

_Oh. _

That would mean it's back there_._

"What makes you say that?" Steve asks.

"It's a hive mind," Dustin replies like that answers his question. When the furrow in Steve's brow deepens, he adds a little impatiently:

"When a gate is open, it's able to share its consciousness. The Demodogs follow orders through the connection," He explains. "If the gate in Hawkins isn't open, then there's gotta be another-,"

"El is our first priority," Lucas sighs irritably. "We can't talk even think about gates - _or closing them_ \- without her,"

"We could do the same thing you did with me," Will suggests. He turns to Nancy and Johnathan. "We burn it out,"

"Will, we almost lost you," Johnathan says. "It tried to take you with it,"

"He's right," Nancy adds. "It was risky - even then,"

"Could wear it down," Billy says. The others turn to him with surprise when he chimes in. "Could...keep it distracted for long enough,"

"Long enough for what?" Hopper asks pointedly.

"For me to bring her to the surface,"

A lengthy silence fills the room as they all consider the option. 

"And, you can do that?" Joyce asks earnestly.

Billy _isn't_ sure. If it were a normal mind: he would have less hesitation. But, this is _011_. He's got no idea what to expect. What kind of mind would he be going into?

...And, how would he even engage with her to talk things through: after what he's done?

"I don't know," He replies, scratching at the scar on his brow. "It's...all I got,"

"Are you guys serious?" Mike's voice cuts through the air. "He's the _last _person I'd trust with El,"

Before Billy can react, Steve moves forward: "Mike, come on. We wouldn't have found her without his help,"

The rush to his defense makes Billy's breath catch.

Yet, the initial surprise turns bitter. He can't shake the weight of guilt as it falls over him.

"_I won't let that happen to you,"_ Steve said. He hasn't forgot the way he'd said it. Or, how good the promise made him feel: the loyalty he'd offered.

One he _hasn't_ earned.

"No," Billy lets out a sigh. He brings his head low, falling into his hand. "...Wheeler's right,"

He steels himself when he lifts his head. Slowly, Steve's expression falls. The confusion on his face soon turns crestfallen: like he knows something is wrong. 

Still, he has to know. All of it. They _all_ do. It's the right time to rip off the band-aid: while they're all together. Just like Will said.

"The reason she got this way in the first place," Billy sighs. "It was..._because _of me,"

The silence in the air is as painful as he'd always pictured. Out of everyone present, Chief Hopper is the first to move.

Billy leans back in his chair and lifts his head up. He's half prepared for the older man to hit him. To seize him by the collar of his shirt. Only, he just stops in front of him: mouth tight beneath his salt and pepper beard.

"I suggest you start talking," He says, firmly. "_Now_,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short chapter so I wanted to update two at the same time. ST is pretty metaphysical with El's powers and The Upside Down is still mysterious, so I've been going off theories for lore. 
> 
> I hope everyone's healthy and staying as safe as possible during this tough time.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few content warnings for this chapter: mention of child-abuse, use of a homophobic slur and an incident of dubious consent.

December 1986

The subject in the photograph had moved on from the tests undertaken in 1961.

Once, Billy had once found himself wondering about the lives these people had built. Far from their pasts - the only other reminder was the little number on his wrist.

Now, he doesn't look for further details.

He doesn't know his name. It's just a face in a photograph: a face assigned to a number.

Blood drips down Billy's throat and under the skin of his shirt. The scent in his nose always feels like a bad sign. It's what he hates the most because it always lingers: bitter like smoking wood. But, the blood isn't the worst of it: everyone bleeds.

"I told you to pace yourself," The man behind the glass says, voice booming through the speaker.

Today, he's not alone. The man in the grey suit is there, too. The same man who'd plucked him from a prison cell.

"_From...Hawkins,"_ He'd mused, acknowledging him with a calculating coldness through the bars.

A _rehabilitation program_, they'd told him.

What a joke.

Often, he'd entertained thoughts of resistance. He'd seen through the lies or where he'd known the truth.

In the end - the fantasies were pointless. What difference would it make? It's not like he ever had a choice to begin with.

He wants this day to be over. To find peace in the quiet and dark of his cell. It's been days since he slept for more than an hour or two.

Every night, he's haunted by the strangest dreams. He wakes in an ice-_cold_ sweat. The image of a girl screaming is burned on the backs of his eyelids: her eyes pitch black and nose streaming with blood as she traps him in the dark.

"Remember. No contact, 19," The man in the grey suit takes the speaker: analyzing him with the usual frown in his brow. "In there, you're a ghost,"

_A ghost._ There, it was fitting. They'd called it the mind-scape: a place somewhere in between. Billy navigated it well - compared to the others. Only, there was no-one more adept than "Hawkins: _011"._

In early trials, all of the subjects slow could only manage four or five minutes in real time. When the pain was unbearable, he waited for something to strike him - like it had the others. To burst in his skull. Like, the blow of a punch across his cheek. Bursting like a firework behind his lids.

He lived. But, many didn't. Mutations. Bleeds on the brain. A sudden blow to the head and many were gone. While, others were lost - trapped in their minds: in the dark without end.

Alone.

Only, _Billy _was never _truly_ alone. There was always the shadow. The one who'd haunted his dreams: the man in the corner was in every room: black smoke bleeding from his mouth, nose and eyes.

Billy fights off a shudder as another bead of sweat bleeds hot down his temple.

"Look at me," The man in the grey suit calls for his attention. "You're vulnerable in that state. Open to influence. The subconscious is delicate. Keep you guard up and do _not _make direct contact with anyone. Anyone or..._anything_,"

Billy's mouth curls up into a snarl. "Let's just get this over with,"

* * *

January 1987

Billy is brought back in to his shared cell, nose tacky and stiff with dried blood. From the other bed, David is sprawled out on his bed. He grins, cocky as he throws a rolled-up pair of socks into the air. It's a sight he's unfortunately grown used to.

The last cell-mate had been a quiet, older man who spoke a language Billy couldn't place. Every night, words tumbled out of him with frenetic repetition: he'd always wondered if he was praying.

He didn't make it long.

The last bolt on the door is sealed shut and David finally breaks the silence.

"Told you," He says, referring to the small bag of items in Billy's hand. "You just gotta play ball once in a while,"

When conditioned beneath the heel of someone's boot, the smallest hand-out seemed like a gift. Growing up, Billy was familiar with the tactic. A new toy or a candy bar dangled in front of his face after being beaten black and blue.  
  
"_You know why I did it, don't you? It was for your own good,"_

He hasn't forgot what they are: what they're doing to them. A fist of rage expands in Billy’s chest as he unpacks the items inside: new clothes, a soda and a few books to read: his "prize" for a successful day on the job.

Billy loses focus on the items: on the pointlessness of it. "No one here _actually _has a choice here," He murmurs, tired.

"A lot of these people gave up their choice when they became criminals,"

Billy fights off a flush of rage at his words. He breathes in deep. And, yet - like always - the other man keeps going.

"Most of them would've died in some cell," He scoffs. "Or, doped up in some alley,"

Billy flushes white hot in a split second. "You don't fuckin' know that," He snaps.

David shoots him a look of surprise. He stands up, brushes himself down and walks towards him. He's taller by a decent margin: makes every _irritating_ attempt to remind him of it.

"It's not like you to be so optimistic," He smiles, cool grey eyes trailing low down Billy's body. "Getting soft?"

Billy steels his jaw. “You're no better than the rest of us screwups,”

“Says the murderer," He laughs, cold. "I’m probably the most normal guy here,"

"I wouldn't count on it,"

_What the Hell would you know about normal?_ Billy wonders. Spending an entire life in some form of captivity wasn't anywhere close to normal - let alone being purposed for such a life by your own biological _father_.

Billy's tired of this bullshit, superior attitude. He wants to wipe the smile on his face: to bring him down into the dirt with the rest of them. He presses where he _knows_ it'll hurt:

"You're here because Daddy doesn't care if a queer like you lives or dies,"

There's the briefest flicker of hurt on David's face before he smiles: his eyes cold and steely when he speaks:

"And, you would know _all _about that,"

Billy grabs a handful of his shirt in his fist. He lurches to throw him: to use him weight against him. Only, he isn't fast enough. It's infuriating how he turns them on a dime.

David slams Billy hard into the wall and the contact knocks the breath from his lungs. Billy grapples with him, pawing at his arms. He isn't surprised when David kisses him, open mouthed and urgent.

It's not the first time they've fooled around. To blow off steam. To get through sleepless nights or simply release tension.

Billy's rough when he kisses him back, red-hot with anger. He bites hard into his bottom lip until the skin breaks.

When David flinches, Billy pushes him back hard.

David just_ laughs_. He keeps laughing until his eyes are bleary. 

"You think that shit's funny?"

"You're a trip," David dabs at the small bead of blood on his bottom lip. He's _still_ smiling: it's infuriating.

Billy spits into the corner of the room, right by David's bunk. "Stay on your fuckin' side,"

When he turns, David's hand reaches out for his upper arm, halting him in place.

"My bad, Bill," He says, softly: his voice is suddenly strange. "I almost forgot,"

Billy tries to warn him. To stop him. He barely mouths a _don't_ before he starts to change. But, it's too late by the time he's grasped hold of Billy's arm. 

Billy shouldn't be surprised when his face changes: not when he's done this so many times before. The face before him forms a new. In place of grey eyes, they're a warm brown. The length of his short, buzzed black hair is now brown, soft to the touch.

"How about now?"

The voice is not quite right. _Still, _hearing it from those lips never fails to makes Billy's breath catch. He laughs - and the sound makes him flush. It's no longer just a joke anymore when he moves forward. Or, when he reaches for Billy's hip, squeezing light. Lifts his dark eyes up to Billy's face.

"This is what you want, right?"

Billy hates himself for falling for it again.

The man under him laughs nothing like him. He doesn't talk anything like he does. The _real _Steve would hate every minute of this.

Still, Billy is lost to the vision of what he could never have: moaning and desperate beneath him. He finishes like he's been punched in the gut, falling onto his back as he spasms through the shocks.

Like always, he feels sick to his stomach when it's over. He knows it'll happen again. It always does. It's easy to get lost in a fantasy when he's got so little going for him.

* * *

March 1988

Billy wakes to the sound of murmuring voices.

He wraps hard at the side of his temple. Kneads his knuckles deep into his eye sockets.

Of course, it's no good. Whoever they are, they're _really _trying. The pull is stronger than he's ever felt: the voices too loud to ignore.

He isn't supposed to go into the mind-scape alone. But, he needs to know who is calling his name like this.

He strains to hear it again through the blood in his ears. It's a sound like waves crashing. The safety of the shore, warm sand between his toes, the scent of her perfume. All of those comforts are the safest thoughts he has stowed away: the only thing that belongs to him, and him alone.

"Billy?"

It's a woman's voice. But, it's not his mother.

The voices are coming from a small, bedroom. The low hum of the radio plays as two young women sit on a carpet, their hands clasped together.

It's Max, he realizes. And, it's her: Hawkins: 011.

"I'm sorry, El," Max sighs as they let go of each other. She reaches forward to untie the veil from the other girl's eyes. It falls onto the carpet to reveal her expression, downcast and mediative.

She's slow to reply, frown creasing between her brows. "It's...okay, Max," She says, deliberating.

Max leans forward to wipe away the blood from her lips, careful and light. When she's done, El raises to stand: making her way to the window to peer past the curtain.

"It's just...he denies all visitation requests," Max talks like she'd held her breath. Frustrated, she rubs the back of her hand over her face roughly, wrist wrapped in little colored bead bracelets.

"I can't reach him to talk. Or, ask what really happened," She stops when her voices gets shaky and uneven. "The guys keep telling me to let this go. And, I know I _should_....but-"

"Max," El says abruptly. She turns from the window, face obscured by the white daylight. "Are you sure he's in Indiana State?"

Max mulls over the question. "...Where else would he be?"

* * *

August 1991:

"…You still there, Bill?" David laughs - yet Billy can tell he's nervous. The way he paws for him, hands clammy and cold.

He's scared.

He's spent the last few nights in David's bunk. Billy isn't sure if he can witness another seizure but he also can't sleep at the thought of missing the final one. Of him being alone, at the end.

"Where else would I go?" He locks his arms around David's body. He's smaller: the back of his shoulders dig into Billy's chest.

"You still cold?" Billy adjusts himself around him a little roughly. He feels a pang of guilt when he hisses.

“...Easy on the goods,” He teases weakly.

Billy can’t bring himself to even humor him. He can’t pretend to be anything but seething. At this place, at his father, at this whole situation. He wants to shake him and scream. _Don't lie down and die. Fight it._

Billy can't do much for him now - other than just be here. Till the end.

He swallows his his frustration and helplessness. The bitter grief is like a large dry pill and it's a that's eating him from the inside.

"Sometimes, I wish I'd never-" David stops to wets his dry lips. Lets out a grim scoff. "..Forget it,"

Billy feels almost _afraid_ to press him. And, yet he _wants_ to hear the rest. It's the only time he's ever heard him sound like this. So, he presses.

"...You wish what?"

"If we'd met like normal. Outside of all this shit. Do you think we-" He's cut short by another tremor, a small seize of muscles. "_Shit-,_" He curses as he's wracked with pain, followed by another weak laugh. "Damn...I can't get a word out,"

"Don't talk," Billy's throat swells with a lump, his eyes are burning. "Just, rest," He squeezes his eyes shut tight and holds him tighter.

He can't hear any more what ifs.

* * *

September 1993

The target perches on the edge of a motel bed. It's a woman, this time. She's thin with sunburned shoulders, half covered by mousey half-bleached blonde hair.

Billy searches for little details in the room: notices a small map for on the wall for the state of Ohio.

That's when he realizes she's not alone: another woman walks past the map on the wall. She paces the length of the room, voice echoing as she speaks:

"My family wanted to keep me safe. To keep me from that pain," She trails off, a little wistful. "But, I can't go on pretending when I have the power to do something," She turns to the other girl, sitting at the edge of her bed: hands wringing together around a tissue.

"There are others like me. Like us. It didn't end with me. Or, with you," She takes hold of her shaking hands with care. Asks for permission before she peels back the khaki sweatband on her wrist to reveal a number _021_.

"I'm going to make sure this never happens again,"

That's when she lifts her eyes. She's looks past the girl, past the door. And, that's when he realizes with sudden shock.

_She sees me_.

* * *

June 1994

It isn't long before her voice is in his head again. She's too strong to keep out. It had taken everything he had to retreat deep inside his mind: somewhere where he was sure she couldn't reach.

_"The deeper you go, the more dangerous. You do not make direct contact with anyone you find in there. Anyone or...anything." _

The man in the grey suit's words repeat in his head. Despite the danger, the girl is still here. There's no place to hide. Not from her.

"...Billy?"

Billy tenses like he's been burned. He's in his old bedroom: huddled small by the foot of his bed.

He _knows_ this room. He knows this memory. The phone dangles from the nightstand by its cord. The dial is dead: she's not on the other end. It's because she's not coming back for him. She's going to leave him here.

A sudden thundering bang on the bedroom door splits the air:

"Billy! Open this door, right now!"

He remembered what happened next: how he'd found him and beat him with the belt. And, yet this is all wrong. Neil's voice is _wrong_. Distorted and low: an inhuman sound.

El kneels down beside him, her hand reaching towards his knees that are drawn up to his chest. He pulls them closer to his chest, away from her touch.

She _can't_ touch him - she shouldn't.

"Get out of my head," He tells her.

"I want to help you," She says, soft.

"You can't," He snaps. _You shouldn't. _The door slams again. This time, the sound is a hissing screech followed by a sound like crackling static.

"Can you tell me where you are?" She says. "Do you know where they're keeping you?"

Billy turns from the door. He's unable to block out the sound. He leans in close to El when he speaks, timid like a child. "_Can't you hear him_?" He whispers.

El's eyes widen with dawning fear. "...Who?"

It's not a ghost. Or a memory. It had never been Neil, after all. Even on that night. It was just The Shadow wearing his face.

The door to his bedroom bursts open as if separated from its hinges. Black smoke pours and gathers around them like thick black fumes.

The girl screams.

It's _so_ loud. It pierces the air. It fills his head. There's such an intense pressure that it feels like his head might burst open.

The ground itself groans and shakes as the scream goes on and on. Billy stumbles and falls into black.

Billy wakes to a new, confusing world. 

He staggers down the white, flickering halls of the facility. Around him, the cells and hallways are barren of life. The floor strewn with bodies.

There's a _strange_ thump in the air. A throbbing sound: like the sound of a pulse. Billy isn't sure if it's in his own head or not.

Amidst the bodies, are a few familiar faces: their white coats sullen with debris and blood. He stops at a few, pawing in their pockets with an undignified roughness. He spits on a few others.

A sound catches his ear, leading him into a room with a large computer console. It's the other side of the glass. The lights keep flickering: going dim and bright in stomach churning procession.

Inside, he hears a voice: another living person.

"I've told you what I know!" The older man hisses into the radio, hand cupping a wound on his thigh. "_I don't know_ what it was,"

The recognition turns Billy cold: he knows his face. In the early days of his imprisonment, when he'd thrashed and fought with all his might - they'd mentioned Max to ensure his compliance.

As the days went on, they'd told him little details they'd only know by _watching_. Reminding him, always, that they were aware of her every move.

The threat became overt when the same man leaned down by Billy's head with a vile grin - brazened by the restraints around Billy's body.

_"Would be a crying shame if anything were to happen to such a beautiful young girl,"_

Now, whimpering and sweating in the dark, he's more pathetic than Billy thought.

Billy approaches him, slow and stalking.

"It was some kind of...power surge," The man continues, unaware. "It disabled security. Yes, _all_ of the other subjects are-" Finally, the man turns over his shoulder, bloodshot eyes going wide with abject horror.

He lunges for the gun resting on the console.

Billy is quick to grab hold of the back of his head. He slams it down hard. The impact jolts up his arm like an electrical current. He feels something crunch when he brings down his head again. And, again. He reasserts his grip with both hands, tight around the back of his head. Blood sprays up his sleeves.

The well of grief in Billy's chest overflows like a dam breaking. A fierce rage that balls in his chest. The sound of his own blood rushing to his head is deafening.

By the time the body's stopped twitching, his fingers are slippery and his hands are shaking.

He's nauseous and dizzy. But, he can't wait for his hands to stop shaking. He has to keep moving.

The radio buzzes with static: a voice still chattering on the other end.

* * *

July 1994

From the outside, the house hasn't changed.

Billy stands on the other side of the street for a solid two minutes before he moves. He lifts his hood when he crosses the street, slowing when he finds familiar ground beneath his feet.

The curtain is half-drawn when he catches sight of a face and red hair.

_She's okay_.

Relief floods him. The thought of anything, of anyone, reaching her before he could.

As strange as it is, the sight of her is a little disorientating. She's an adult now: grown up beyond the awkward teenage girl he'd once known. It's an obvious reality that he's considered, of course. But, seeing it in person is different.

She paces from the one side of the window to the other, swinging the phone cord like a jump rope as she walks. The way she's moving her hands and the flush of her face makes it clear that she's crying.

Billy doesn't have to wonder why for long.

It's for her. Hawkins _011_. El.

_Missing. _

Billy pieces more together the longer he listens. That is, until Max turns in the direction of the window.

By the time Max runs down the driveway, he's tucked away on a neighbors front porch.

He peers out from behind the wall, heart still racing. Watches as Max paces from the lawn down onto the street. She peers into the dark: searching the night.

Billy glances through the gas-station window. He eyes the coffee machine and doughnuts, his stomach erupting with a groan.

It's then that his eyes latch onto a figure in his periphery. He can't help but stare when they've taken hold of the sight.

He can barely believe it.

It's Steve Harrington.

In the rain, he jogs across the parking lot. Ducks his head from the early droplets of falling rain, swept hair falling across his forehead. Burdened with a heavy rucksack, he heaves open the glass door, leaving a hand-print on the glass.

Billy unfreezes slowly.

This time, resuming his watch through the window as his eyes follow him. The race of his heart is frantic and startling.

The years have been good to Steve. He's a little taller and broader in the shoulders: dressed smart and clean like some professional.

Billy feels their connection like a tether to the life he'd once known. Those turbulent years that seem like a different lifetime: violent with color and vibrancy.

_Where have these years led Steve Harrington?_

There's a thoughtful, nervous manner in the way Steve moves around the store. He chews on his bottom lip. Distracted and burdened with thought before he's pulled back into the moment: sighing with frustration when he sweeps his hair back or adjusts his rucksack.

_He's here for her_, Billy soon realizes. They must _all _looking for her.

The last image of her face digs its heels in: it’s hard to shake once it's taken root. He's spent years finding people like her: like them.

If anyone could locate her now - it would be him.

But, that would mean revealing that he was involved in all of this. And, more. It would give them a reason to throw him back into a cell. Or, worse.

_I can't trust anyone but myself_, he thinks. He should get out while he still can. He _needs _to. He has to look out for himself. No one else will. No one else would stick their neck out for him.

And, yet - El had.

Billy turns to the winding road. It's seemingly endless on the horizon: a place that'll lead him far away from Hawkins, Indiana.

Then, there's the other side: as he turns back to Steve's Sedan, parked in the lot and facing into town. Billy chews on the inside of his cheek, wrestling with his thoughts.

He curses under his breath and turns for Steve's car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kept thinking about the other kids that came before Eleven. Kali was abducted: according to what we've heard. So, its possible the other children would've had similar stories. 
> 
> This should be the last flashback chapter now. Thanks again guys for the comments/kudos. :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, I meant to get this up much sooner.

The Byers House is oppressively humid. From the hall to Will’s room, the floor is lined with portable heaters and fans: blasting the already dense, summer-air with more heat.

Throughout the bustle, El cries out from Will's bedroom - sedated but restless on his bed. The straps across her body her in place: locking her arms at her sides.

Intermittently, Hopper stops in the doorway: his face aged by grief and the sleepless nights.

When Billy enters the kitchen and finds Steve turned away from him, wetting the nape of his neck with water from the sink to cool off.

When Billy walks towards him, he’s brought to an abrupt stop. Vaguely, he recalls pieces of the last time he stood in this kitchen.

He doesn't remember much of their fight - or how he'd stumbled home in the aftermath. For the most part, it’s a violent blur of red and screams.

But, he remembers the fallout. The rumors around town. New curfew and boot-camp talks over Susan's bland family dinners. Max and Steve avoiding his every glance.

And, that last Christmas he'd spent on the outside. He and Max cooped up in the house together: being plagued by a restless weight on his chest every time he looked at her.

He feels that now: that same, _gnawing _restlessness. The thought of what happened in this room only adds more fuel. He lets his gaze trail over Steve's shoulders and the nape of his neck and shifts his weight from each foot.

"Steve,"  
  
Steve turns over his shoulder with a glare.

"Can we talk?" 

Steve crosses his arms over his chest as he leans back against the sink, appraising him blankly. Billy closes the gap between them: close enough to insulate their conversation.

"I shoulda told you everything…,"

Steve lowers his eyes to the linoleum. “It's more than just that," He murmurs low, jaw tight. "It’s…more than what you did or _didn't_ tell us,"

Billy tilts his head to catch his eyes, smiling small. "What else you got for me?"

Steve doesn't flinch. When he _does_ lift his head, his glare holds him hostage. "You were going to leave - that night at the Motel. Despite _knowing _you were involved with El’s disappearance,"

He says it like he wants hear Billy try and deny it. To try and defend himself.

He can't. The prolonged, silence from Billy springs Steve into movement.

"Hold it, Harrington,” Billy catches hold of his arm. "We found her, right? I went w_ith_ you,"

"I had to _convince _you to stay!-" Steve drops his head - like he regrets raising his voice within ear-shot of the others. "Did you think about what might've happened if you'd just run off? Did you even _care_?”

Billy’s struck by the waver in Steve’s voice. The quickening of his heart feels something akin to panic: his chest tightens like it’s pulled by a drawstring. It kicks up a notch when Steve turns away.

“Steve,” Billy side-steps to stops him in his tracks. Steve’s scowl wavers when Billy rests his hand softly on his arm. "What you said back at the house. All that shit about chances. And, the here and the now...I _can't_ change what’s already happened-,"

Steve pulls away abruptly. "_None_ of this shit would've happened if it weren't for you," He blurts out.

A small cough sounds from the doorway and the two of them pull a part like opposing magnets.

They turn to find Nancy Wheeler, dainty hand resting on the wall like she's peering into something she shouldn't.

“Everything…okay?” She asks carefully.

"It's fine, Nance," Steve tells her, pushing his hair back from his forehead.

“...Alright," Nancy frowns, eyes wary on Billy. "Dustin asked for you. He’s outside,"

"Right," Steve leaves Billy's side without another word, leaving the space where he once stood empty.

When Billy turns, he finds Nancy still staring: her blue gaze fixed and accusing. _Protective?_ Billy isn't sure.

"Got something you wanna say to me, Wheeler?"

Nancy says nothing until he passes her by. After that, she’s tailing after him briskly, heels clicking on the wooden floor.  
  
"We need to consider every possible outcome here,” She says, matching his pace. "What _should_ we be prepared for?”

"All of you think I’ve got _all _the answers,"

Nancy Wheeler shoots him a look as she folds her arms across her chest. "Well, you haven't exactly been forthcoming until recently, so excuse us for asking questions,"

Billy scoffs and advances toward her. "Be prepared for resistance, princess. If I get through: it'll pull no punches,"

“…Get through?” Johnathan is there by Nancy side before he knows it, redirecting Billy's glance. "To her subconscious?”

“You got it,” Billy nods.

There, it was easy to get lost and forget all sense of the present. Or, of who you’ve become. On loop, stuck inside your own head where your worst memories and vices found you. An endless nightmare. El had found him there: the night his mother left.

"So. The others will keep watch of the house,” Nancy continues her list as they turn for Will’s room. “And, we'll cover the two of you to make sure nothing can break the connection,"

Billy pushes the door wide with faux-chivalry. "A+, Wheeler,"

In response, Nancy rolls her eyes at him. She enters Will’s room first: followed closely by Johnathan.

A wall of heat hits them. Old sun-bleached band and movie posters cover the walls and the shelves are stacked with books and game manuals.

Mike draws the curtain, red-eyed and scowling as they enter. He reserves all of his glares for Billy. The others stepped in every time he'd lunged for him. Ever since, the glares are all he can do. Billy can’t fault the anger: but he’s not about to turn his back on the guy, either.

Johnathan and Nancy help Billy get settled on the chair beside El’s bedside. She’s mostly unresponsive but her lids twitch with rapid eye movement.

Johnathan sighs. "…Let's hope this works,"

"The pep talk needs work, Byers,"

Johnathan scoffs: smiling small. "_Pep _isn't really my thing,"

"How about: don't screw up or we're done for," Nancy adds.

That gets a small laugh out of Billy. He takes hold of El's hand in his. Briefly, turns to the last faces he wonders he'll ever see.

He can't dwell on that - can't overthink it.

"Let's do this," He says.

He closes his eyes and blocks all else out.

* * *

Steve stumbles up the grassy lawn as he heads towards the clearing of the forest - where Dustin is waving his torch. It’s the worst time to get distracted. And, yet his mind doesn’t stop reeling, re-living his own shame. He dwells on his conversation with Billy – and everything else they said and did before it.

"...I'm such an idiot," Steve runs his hand through his hair and gives it a tug, the heel of his palm pressing against his forehead.

"Steve, watch it!" Dustin's voice brings him to a sharp stop before a gathering of leaves and grass.

"Dude, you almost fell into the trapping pit,"

“The what?”

Dustin runs over, peeling a tarp tucked beneath the leaves to reveal a large ditch. "It's for demo-dogs that come through," He says, a little proudly - despite the fact Steve had almost face-planted right into it.

_Figures, _Steve thinks. Why not pull the literal ground out under his feet, too?

Steve edges carefully around the perimeter. “Where are the others?”

“The three of us are covering the Mirkwood entrance,” Lucas points out Max last - standing further out on the open clearing. “And, Hop and Joyce are out the front of the house,”

“Where’s Will?”

“On lookout,” Lucas lifts his flashlight and flashes it once. From the rooftop of the house, there's another white flash from a torch.

While Dustin and Lucas regroup, Steve walks over towards Max.

She's been quiet during all of the commotion. Now, she looks thoughtfully over an array of makeshift tools and weapons: all laid out on an old, drafting table.

She tests a metal pipe in her grip as she walks out into the open. She adjusts her stance and swings hard, the force whistling through the air. She sets it back down by the others: a bat, crowbar and axe.

Steve joins her side by the table. He tucks one of Hop's hunting knives away in its holster. Then, reaches for Old Familiar last, taking the bat in hand. 

"…Why keep it a secret?" Max’s question is so quiet that he almost misses it. Yet, she finds Steve’s glance expectantly - like she's looking for an answer. "Why didn't El tell us what she was doing?" 

Steve blinks with surprise. He was sure she meant Billy: not El. He was sure that’s who they were all mad at. Truth be told, he hadn't considered it - the thought had simply been eclipsed by everything else. Why _had_ El had kept such huge task a secret?

“I…don't know,” He replies earnestly.

El's scream splits the air from inside the house. The sound echoes out into the night and through the trees.

When it fades, Steve and Max's eyes meet in the dark. A distant sound follows on the air that turns his blood cold. On the air, is a distant faint reply.

* * *

The hallways of the facility seemingly go on without an end with each new door he pushes open. Every revolving hallway gets brighter: the walls a sterile, white that constricts his pupils small.

On either side is a series of dark, observation rooms - his reflection follows him in the window: darker with shadow.

He pushes open the doors to find one that appears to be different to the rest. It’s dimly lit and the whine of an alarm fills the air and turns the room red with intermittent flashes. The laboratory is familiar – filled with sights he'd grown accustomed to in the last few years.

As soon as turns and slips through the door, he hears her.

She's huddled small at the foot of the large deprivation tank, her head bowed to her knees and hair shaven to her scalp. In here, she looks like a child.

_"Hawkins: 011"_

Billy slows at the sight of her, shrunken small.

He remembers David, too – a whole life lost. _They were just kids._ The reality of that had never been so real to him as it was in this moment as he looks over her small, cowering figure.

Billy's mouth feels like it's full of cotton when he finally says her name. “El…?”

Eleven goes still. When she lifts her head, her eyes are dark. Recognition dawns on her like a shadow.

"…I know you,"

She stands up with sudden fury and lifts her hand. The air is pelted from Billy's lungs when he's flung backwards and thrown across the floor.

From the hall, there's a rushing, hissing sound. It's almost like water is flooding the halls. El turns to the doors and brings all of them to a sudden close. She turns to Billy, fierce and angry. Surely, ready to throw him at a moments notice.

“What do you want?” She questions sharply. "Why are you here?"

Billy grumbles as he rises to stand upright. "...To get you outta this place,"

El frowns, at that. When he moves closer, she takes a step back. "I can’t leave. Papa will-”

_Papa? _Billy frowns.

Despite her resistance, her eyes linger uncertainly – her anger slowly turns to confusion. Billy takes his chance to move forward, closing the gap between them further.

"You got a lot of people waiting on you. Waiting for you to come home,"

El frowns at the last word: _home. _She's quiet, like she’s processing the idea.

“I'm sure you know, how your old man is. Hell will freeze over before that guy gives up on you. And, Mike is-"

"...Mike," She sighs the name.

Billy rushes to take hold of that thread. He reaches out his hand. “I can take you to him,” 

El lowers her eyes to outstretched hand. Outside, the hissing increases: like the static of that old radio the night he killed Neil. There are figures at the window: watching them. The shadow swarms around them and presses at the glass, fracturing it like ice.

El grasps at the side of her head. "I can't…It's too strong,"

"For _you_?" He asks, a little incredulous. "You're the _only_ person this thing's scared of. Trust me,"

"...Trust you," She repeats the word with an icy fury.

Billy doesn’t have a reply. In her position, he’d feel the same. He'd have _said_ worse.

But, she hasn't written him off, just yet.

"...Afraid I'm all you got, right now," He reaches out his hand, imploring her as he moves closer. "Let me help you,"

* * *

The demo-dogs weave through the trees surrounding the Byers House. They storm out from the open clearing: bee-lining for the house with desperation. Steve figures that Billy must be doing something right: to have them panicking. Luckily, that desperation makes them reckless.

Two Demo-dogs are led astray into one of the traps by Lucas. One screeches when it falls, clawing at the dirt before Max kicks it hard into the pit. A few others manage to reach Joyce and Hopper: who shoot them dead before they can reach the porch.

Now and again, Steve's torch flickers intermittently in the dark. He slaps the side of it to keep it lit - but it doesn’t stop flickering.

The splitting sound of glass shattering from the house turns everyones heads.

A large plume of ink-black shadow pours from the window of Will's room. It fills the air: a hissing, swarm that moves so fast that Steve can barely track it.

Amidst the hissing black clouds and storm above, there’s another sound to his right. One that makes the hair on the back of Steve’s neck stand on end.

He peers into the darkness: eyes finding movement in the shadows. Light catches on the shimmer of wet, blistered skin.

It's no Demo-dog. It stands tall: a familiar, towering shadow. Steve’s stomach drops.

It makes a sharp beeline for the house but Max is standing in its path. She's unaware while her eyes are still raised to the skies. Its mouth splits open like a flower, screeching as it swings at her.

Steve runs.

* * *

Billy wakes to cloying heat. 

It's so hot that his clothes stick to his body like glue: the inside of his mouth is dry and tacky. The smell of blood coats the air and fills his nose.

The first sight he's conscious of is Mike; moving to El's bedside to touch her cheek.

"El?"

“Mi…ke,” Her reply is barely a whisper but the two of them embrace, clinging to one another tightly.

Billy sits upright with a groan, his head pounding like a drum. From the doorway, Johnathan stares at him like he's risen from the grave.

He feels like it.

“Why don’t you take a picture, Byers?” Billy grumbles.

At that, Johnathan scoffs. “...Seems like you’re just fine,” He curtly passes him a glass of water.

Billy takes it. The water floods his mouth and he sighs into the glass gratefully: it turns a little pink from the blood on his lips.

"It's gone," Nancy tells them, gaze cast out into the night skies through the broken window of Will's room. "Just like before," She frowns, curious and fearful as she lifts her eyes back to the skies.

Billy knows what she's thinking. It's on his mind, too. _Where?_

A sudden, frantic commotion sounds from the living room. Then, there's a scream turns his blood cold.

Billy bolts from Will's room as fast as he can muster.

Max is propped up against the living-room wall. She grasps Lucas's hand, cries out through her teeth as Joyce leans over a streaming wound on her leg to tourniquet it.

"Hold his hand tight, honey-" Joyce tells her.

Billy feels his throat swell when he looks Max over. "The hell happened?"

"Billy-" Max grasps hold of his sleeve frantically. “Steve. He’s-,” The grip softens when eyes fill with tears.

Billy's heart pounds even faster. "He's…what?"

"It took him," Lucas says. His glance is sombre when Billy turns to him in question. "The Demogorgon,”


End file.
